Six months later, Emma woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Alek's voice drifting up from the kitchen. She could hear Charlotte giggling and Frankie chattering about dinosaurs, the comfortable chaos of a family morning.
She stretched in their bed—their bed, not hers or his—and smiled at how normal it felt again. Normal, but better than before.
"Mama!" Charlotte's voice called from downstairs. "Daddy made pancakes and they look like hockey pucks!"
"They're supposed to be round!" Alek called back, laughing.
Emma padded downstairs in her pajamas and found her family gathered around the breakfast table. Alek was flipping pancakes while wearing an apron that said "Kiss the Cook"—a gag gift from the kids that he wore unironically every weekend.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said,
