My Son at the Table

When Mark stayed over for the first time, it felt almost… domestic.

I woke up to the smell of coffee and the soft crackle of eggs frying. He was standing in my kitchen like he had always belonged there—barefoot, relaxed, humming under his breath. He smiled when he saw me, kissed my cheek, and said he’d always been an early riser.

It felt peaceful.

A few minutes later, my son came out of his room.