The porch steps still creaked on the third board from the top.

Casey stood at the bottom of those stairs, staring up at the Victorian house she and Drew had poured their dreams into. The front was beautiful—fresh paint in historic grays and whites, restored gingerbread trim, new windows that maintained the original character while actually keeping out the cold. Everything the historic preservation board had required.

But the back half of the house was still wrapped in Tyvek, waiting for the siding they'd never gotten around to choosing. Like their marriage—picture perfect from the outside, unfinished where it mattered most.

"We don't have to do this today," Drew said beside her. "The realtor said she could—"

"No." Casey squared her shoulders. "If we're selling it, we need to see what we're working with."

It had seemed logical when they'd discussed it in the hospital last week. The house was their biggest shared asset, and with a baby coming, they needed to figure out what to do with it. Finish it or sell it as-is.

The key stuck in the lock—it always had—but Drew's practiced jiggle-and-lift maneuver got them inside. The foyer smelled of sawdust and possibility, just like it had the day they'd bought it.

---

Two Years Ago

"It's a disaster," Drew's father declared, kicking a loose floorboard.

"It's got potential," Drew argued, already sketching renovation plans in his notebook. "Look at these bones—the original hardwoods, the crown molding, the way the light comes through those front windows..."

"It's got potential for bankruptcy." Tom Thompson shook his head. "Son, you're looking at a money pit."

But Casey had already fallen in love with the wedding-cake trim and generous porches, the way the afternoon sun painted the walls gold, the window seat in what could be a nursery someday.

"We can do it," she said, squeezing Drew's hand. "Together."

Later that night, lying on sleeping bags in their empty master bedroom, they'd planned it all out.

"We'll start with the essential stuff," Drew said, his architect's mind already mapping the work. "Roof, electrical, plumbing. Then we can tackle the cosmetic things room by room."

"Starting with the nursery?" She'd meant it as a joke, but his eyes lit up.

"Really? You're ready to talk about...?"

"Maybe. Soon." She rolled to face him. "Once we make this place ours."

They'd celebrated their successful bid with champagne on the unfinished porch, dreaming out loud about holiday dinners and summer barbecues and the sound of children's feet on those creaky stairs.

---

Present Day

The nursery was still empty, its walls still stripped to the studs. Casey stood in the doorway, one hand on her growing belly, remembering all those dreams.

"We got the electrical done," Drew said behind her. "And the new windows. The plumbing's roughed in for the en suite bathroom."

"But not finished."

"No." His voice was quiet. "Not finished."

Like everything else they'd started. The master bathroom with its half-tiled walls. The kitchen with its templated countertops, waiting for marble that never came. The back deck with its pressure-treated bones, waiting for the composite decking they couldn't agree on.

"Where did we go wrong?" she asked, running her hand along a raw wooden doorframe. "With the house, I mean."

But they both knew she meant more than the house.

Drew leaned against the unfinished wall, dust settling on his dark hair. "We stopped talking about the big decisions. Started making them separately."

"Like the marble countertops."

"You mean the quartz countertops."

"See?" She laughed, but it caught in her throat. "We never even discussed it. I just ordered marble samples, you just ordered quartz..."

"And now we have templates gathering dust in the garage."

They moved through the house like ghosts of their former selves, cataloging all the half-finished projects. The living room still needed crown molding. The dining room was waiting for wainscoting. Every room a monument to decisions unmade, conversations unfinished.

In the kitchen, Casey found her marble samples still lined up on the windowsill, gathering dust beside Drew's quartz options.

"You know what's funny?" She picked up a piece of Calacatta gold, its veining catching the light. "I can't even remember why I wanted marble so badly."

"Because it's beautiful." Drew picked up his preferred quartz. "But impractical. Stains easily. High maintenance."

"Unlike quartz. Practical. Durable. Safe." She set the marble down. "Maybe we were both right. And both wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe we needed both. The beauty and the practicality. The dreams and the reality." She gestured around the kitchen. "Maybe that's what we were missing. Balance."

Drew was quiet for a long moment, studying the samples. "There's this new engineered stone," he said finally. "Looks like marble but performs like quartz. Best of both worlds."

"Is that a metaphor?"

His laugh echoed in the empty kitchen. "Maybe. Or maybe I've just learned something about compromise in the past year."

They ended up in the backyard, sitting on the unfinished deck steps. The late afternoon sun painted everything gold, just like that first day.

"So what do we do?" Casey asked. "Sell it? Try to finish it? Cut our losses?"

Drew was silent, his architect's eyes scanning the property. "What if..." He hesitated. "What if we tried something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like finishing it together. Not as a married couple, not as divorced enemies, but as... whatever we are now. Partners. Co-parents. People who are trying to figure out how to build something new out of something broken."

Casey looked at the house—really looked at it. Past the unfinished siding and missing trim, she could still see what had made them fall in love with it. The potential. The bones. The way it caught the light.

"We'd have to make decisions together this time," she said. "Real ones. Not just assuming we know what the other person wants."

"We'd have to talk about the hard stuff. Budgets. Timelines. Priorities."

"Marble versus quartz."

"Or engineered stone." His smile was tentative. "Think of it as practice. For all the other decisions we'll have to make. About the baby. About Chicago. About... everything."

A flutter of movement in her belly made Casey press her hand to the spot. Drew noticed—he always noticed—but didn't reach out. Didn't assume. Just waited.

She took his hand and placed it where the baby was kicking. His intake of breath was worth every moment of uncertainty.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay?"

"Let's finish it. Together." She looked up at their beautiful disaster of a house. "But this time, we do it right. No shortcuts. No assumptions. No running away when it gets hard."

"Deal." He helped her up from the steps, his hand lingering in hers. "Want to start with the nursery?"

Casey thought about that long-ago night on sleeping bags, dreaming about their future. Some of those dreams had shattered, but maybe that's what made the new ones stronger. Built on a foundation of hard lessons and earned wisdom instead of just young love and blind hope.

"The nursery," she agreed. "But first..."

"First?"

"First, we need to talk about that engineered stone. Show me some samples?"

His laugh rang out across the unfinished yard, echoing off the Tyvek-wrapped walls and into the golden afternoon. Casey laughed too, and for the first time in a long time, the house felt like it could be home again.

Not the same home they'd planned before. But maybe a better one. Stronger. Built to last.

Just like them.