She had arranged special slippers for them to wear indoors. “Outdoor shoes heel-to-heel,” his mother murmured, kind but exacting. Evelyn complied; the woman nudged Aaron’s pair by a millimeter, the correction so gentle it almost felt like affection. Aaron chuckled, obedient and practiced. The sound was pleasant but a little heartbreaking.
Lunch landed on white plates like geometry toolboxes—equal distances between utensils and bread slices indistinguishable by size. “We prefer balance,” his mother said, offering butter. Evelyn reached, and the napkin at her wrist was rotated by a degree. “Angles flatter the table,” the woman smiled. Evelyn nodded.