6 Chapel Lane.

It began as a frame.

Studs, sheathing, a crew, and a season of early mornings. Everything that mattered was decided here, where no one would ever see it.

Structure first.

The bones set true before anything beautiful was allowed to show. The same hands that demolished were the hands that raised her.

White oak, laid in herringbone.

The kind of floor the eye remembers even when the spec sheet forgets. You feel it underfoot before you ever look down.

The porch light came on.

Near dusk, for the first time — and you could already feel the house that was coming.

And then she simply stood there.

As if she had always been there. The first clean sentence in a paragraph that would become Casa UNO, DOS, TRES.