Mark
I know something is different the moment we walk into the kitchen.
It’s not loud at first. It’s quieter than usual, actually—like the room itself is holding its breath. The lights are warmer, the counters cleared, plates being set out by Sarah like this is normal and always happens. The air smells rich and familiar, the kind of smell that hits you in the chest before your brain catches up.
Pot roast.
My pot roast.
I stop short without meaning to. Tony nearly walks into my back.
“Is this… is this a pot roast?” Tony asks, lifting a lid like he’s discovered buried treasure. “Because if it is, I’m emotionally unprepared.”
Luke leans over his shoulder, suspicious as hell. “Are there onions in it?”
Melody doesn’t miss a beat. She points calmly to a smaller crock pot on the side. “Co
