A house feels different when someone has stopped expecting their own needs to fit inside it.

Rooms register more than furniture. When a person has quietly folded their own needs away, the house begins to organise itself around everyone else: no chair that is theirs, no hour that is theirs, nothing left out that would suggest a preference. It rarely looks like unhappiness from the outside. It looks like an unusually accommodating home.

If that description lands somewhere close, start with one small claim rather than a conversation about fairness. A shelf, an evening, a chair angled the way you like it. And if you live with someone who has shrunk that way, make room for them out loud before they ask.