When breakfast time came, it was business as usual.
As long as they weren't eating out, she was always the one to cook. It had become his request, but even if he never voiced it, she willingly took it on, finding joy in cooking for the man she loved.
Even if she had to cook for him her whole life, it would be her happiness.
Alexander lounged lazily on the sofa, casually unfolding his newspaper, though every now and then, his gaze would drift over the top, briefly resting on the kitchen.
There she was—Phoebe in a pink apron, her long, dark hair tied up high into a playful ponytail, fully immersed in preparing the meal. The intensity with which she focused made it hard for him to look away.
Yet, a bitter feeling quietly stirred in Alexander's chest, a sensation that seemed to gently
