A photograph on the mantel of someone who was stern in a way that only made sense to you years after they were gone. You were born with Saturn in your fourth house, the kitchen of the soul, the ancestral pulse running under the floorboards of where you come from. The home that raised you asked something hard of you early, and the asking is what set your spine. There were rules you kept before you understood them, a quiet you learned to hold at the dinner table. You probably carry a heavier duty toward your people than your siblings do, the one who calls, the one who shows up, the one the family leans on without quite saying thank you. Your task now is building your own four walls as a gentler version of the ones you inherited, keeping the backbone and dropping the chill that came packaged with it. Decide what to keep. Renovate the rest, the plaster and the habits both, and let the new house be warm on purpose.