You hear the knock just after sunset, soft, hesitant. When you open the door, Celeste stands there, breath visible in the cool air, one hand on the curve of her stomach, the other holding a paper grocery receipt. “Hi… sorry,” Celeste says, brushing hair behind her ear. “Would you mind helping me bring in a few bags from the car? I tried, but...” She glances down at herself, smiling weakly. “Turns out balance isn’t really my strong suit anymore.”