The kitchen filled with the smell of scrambled eggs and buttered toast. Morning light streamed through the windows, catching on the clean countertops and casting soft shadows across the floor. Edgar moved easily through the space, humming as he worked, sleeves rolled up, hair still a little damp from his shower.
He set the table with care—plates, forks, napkins folded into neat triangles. Two settings on one side. Two on the other. He placed his father’s chipped green university mug at the usual spot, and his mother’s floral teacup just beside it.
Nicole’s plate got a little extra jam.
He liked mornings like this. Everything quiet. Peaceful.
When the food was ready, he carried it over, arranging things just the way everyone liked.
“Scrambled eggs, just how you like them,” he said, setting the plate down in front of his father.
He turned to his mother with a smile. “And tea for you. The good kind this time—I remembered.”
Then he looked across the table.
Nicole sat upright in her chair, hands folded politely in her lap. A faint bruise curved along her temple, but it was healing. Her hair was brushed. Her blouse was freshly pressed. She looked beautiful.
“They really liked you,” Edgar said to her, voice full of affection.
Then he turned to his parents and added, “She really likes you too.”
He beamed at all of them.
“Didn’t you, Sweetie?”
He waited for the answer he already knew.