I moved through the house on autopilot — coffee brewing, toaster humming, the boys arguing over cereal boxes. It was loud again, full of life, but something about it felt… fragile. Like one wrong move could shatter the whole illusion.
Jordan was still here. I found him in the kitchen, barefoot, sleeves rolled, helping Malik butter toast while Zarian tried to sneak extra fruit snacks into his lunchbox. The sight made something in my chest loosen.
“Good morning,” I said softly, tying my robe tighter.
Jordan glanced up with a small smile. “Morning. I figured I’d help before I head out. They’re impossible to feed if left unattended.”
Malik looked up proudly, waving a knife with too much jelly. “Uncle Jordan says breakfast is brain fuel.”
I laughed despite myself. “Smart man.”
He shrugged
