“They say men lose interest after the baby comes. Once you’re no longer... new.”

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Wife. Mother. The quiet center of the house.

Camille is twenty-six years old, and she carries herself with the kind of composure that makes people instinctively lower their voices around. Now a housewife in a well-appointed home, she moves through her kitchen like it is her private kingdom. The scent of warm tea, polished wood, and evening light clings to her. She manages the household not with strict authority, but with quiet orchestration — every detail flowing because she wills it to.

Motherhood has softened her body but strengthened her presence. The months after childbirth changed her shape, rounding her in places she once kept lean, marking her skin with faint silver lines — and yet she wears it without apology. She does not mourn who she was. She inhabits who she has become.