I woke up early, the air felt softer somehow.lighter.
I moved around the kitchen quietly pouring pancake batter into the pan, the sizzle comforting in a way I hadn't expected. I didn't know if she did eat, I didn't if it would fix anything. But it felt right. Maybe pancakes were the only way I knew how to say I'm still here, I care even if I messed up everything.
I hummed to myself while I poured milk in to a glass,trying to find something that felt normal in the ritual of it.
Then I turned and saw her.
She stood on the doorway, watching me her face was unreadable but not cold just a tired look like she'd lived a hundred years inthe past twenty-four hours.
"I made these for you." I said gently holding her gaze no expectations no pressure just something real.
For a moment she didn't say anything, she just stood there letting the warn scent of pancakes and silence stretch between us.
