Chloe picked up a plastic toy figure from her toy box and tried to stand it near the miniature entrance.

“He wants to go inside,” she said.

Daniel laughed softly, kneeling down next to her.

“The real doors will open tomorrow, Chloe-bug,” he said, bopping her nose gently.

I looked down at the model, seeing the physical representation of so much pain turned into hope.

It was a stark contrast to the sterile, cold environment Mark had always insisted on during our marriage.

Here, there was light, thought, and genuine care built into every corner.

“I should get home and iron my dress,” I said, though I didn’t want to leave the warmth of this room.

“Stay for dinner first,” Daniel said, standing up and looking at me.

“Please, Victoria!” Chloe begged, grabbing my hand. “We are having tacos.”

I looked at Daniel, who gave me a hopeful nod.

“I suppose I can iron later,” I said with a smile.

Chloe cheered and ran toward the kitchen to get the plastic plates.

Daniel stepped closer to me, his hand brushing against mine as we followed her.