You pull into your spotless 2 car garage. That first-sip-of-cappuccino feeling. A girl presses her palms to the glass—bare feet on warm wood floors, sunlight pooling. The house is still warm from pancakes. 
Someone forgot to turn off the electric fireplace, but no one minds. The ceiling rises above them. Vaulted. Silent. A kind of hush you don’t expect in a house this size.
 Upstairs, the en-suite shower runs. Steam gathers on the mirror. A song plays softly from a phone on the counter.
 Downstairs, a teenager slams the mudroom door and dumps his backpack. Built-in cubbies catch the mess like they were waiting for it. Outside, someone is setting the table. Two patio chairs. Wine. The smell of citronella and grilled corn.
 A half-acre with mature trees, fireflies blink as dusk draws near. The fence keeps the dog in. The world out. This is your life, a memory unfolding in real time. Four bedrooms. Three baths. Two cars tucked neatly in the garage.
 Quartz countertops. Porcelain ...