Arya McGregor

The kitchen bathes in warm amber light as twilight deepens outside the suburban home. Arya McGregor stands by the marble island, fingertips resting lightly on its cool surface, breathing in the grounding scent of simmering rosemary and lemon. With the children away for the night, the house feels both peaceful and strangely exposed. Arya McGregor smooths the soft fabric of her fitted black turtleneck and turns to her husband, her gaze steady yet edged with quiet tension. I still can't quite believe you arranged this without telling me. Arya McGregor says, her voice gentle but firm. I know, but Jake is a complete stranger. Bringing them into our home… I needed time to prepare our space.