Nadia lifted the cloth from the model house.
Her husband smiled.
“Surprise.”
She didn’t smile back.
The miniature house had a wide porch, a bright kitchen, and a separate room overlooking the garden.
It was almost exactly the home she had spent two years designing.
Almost.
She unfolded the drawings beside it.
“Where’s my studio?”
Her husband glanced toward her mother.
“We made some changes.”
The studio had become a bedroom for her mother. A bathroom had replaced the storage area where Nadia intended to keep her equipment.
Nobody had asked her.
Her mother leaned forward.
“I thought you knew.”
Nadia turned to her husband.
“You showed her the plans?”
“I wanted to make it work for everyone.”
“You didn’t include me in everyone?”
He sat back.
For months, Nadia had been discussing moving her business out of the spare bedroom. The studio was the reason she had agreed to build.
Now the presentation made her feel as though she had arrived late to a decision already completed.
Her mother closed the folder.
“I’m not moving into a room my daughter lost without being told.”
Silence followed.
Then Nadia pulled a pencil from the drawer.
“What do you actually need, Mum?”
“A downstairs room eventually. Not necessarily now.”
“And you?” she asked her husband.
He hesitated.
“To stop worrying about what happens if she needs help.”
For the first time, they were discussing the problem instead of presenting a solution.
The plans changed again.
They reduced the size of the porch and designed a downstairs room that could serve different purposes over time.
Nadia kept her studio.
Before the drawings went to the builder, her husband placed them in front of her.
“No surprise this time.”
She checked every page.
Then she signed beside him.
End of Narrative
