It was a regular Tuesday in early December, just three days before Christmas. The house smelled of roasted chicken and vanilla candles\u2014the kind I only lit during the holidays. Wrapping paper spilled from a box in the corner, and the kids were bickering in the living room over which present belonged to whom. Everything felt loud, warm, alive.<\/p>\n
I answered without looking at the screen.
\n\u201cHey.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019m heading out now,\u201d Ethan said. His voice was tired, but calm and familiar, the kind that made everything feel manageable. \u201cI just need to stop at the store real quick. The kids won\u2019t let the gift thing go.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear. \u201cThey\u2019ll survive if it shows up tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
He chuckled softly\u2014a laugh I can still hear in my head. \u201cYou say that, but you know how they get. I promised, kind of.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dinner\u2019s ready,\u201d I reminded him. \u201cHot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can almost smell it,\u201d he said. \u201cYou made that chicken I like, didn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe one you steal extra pieces from.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause. Comfortable. Familiar. The kind that comes only after years of shared routines and quiet understanding.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou sound exhausted,\u201d I said. \u201cEverything okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
am,\u201d he replied. \u201cJust tired. I\u2019ll be home before they finish arguing.\u201d<\/p>\n
A flicker of worry passed through me. \u201cDon\u2019t take too long.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t. Tell them I\u2019m on my way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd\u2026 thanks for waiting,\u201d he added softly.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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