Mark woke up with the first rays of sunlight filtering through the window.
He opened his eyes slowly and, for a few seconds, lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of that small wooden house.
Everything was quiet, save for the distant song of some bird and the whisper of wind through the trees.
It was a peace he'd never experienced before.
That was when he caught the smell of something cooking.
Hot butter, bacon sizzling in a pan, and something else drifting in from the other room, enough to make his stomach growl.
Mark got out of bed, dressed without any rush, and followed the smell to the kitchen.
Peeking in, he couldn't help but smile.
Mary stood with her back to him, cooking over the stove. She wore an apron over her clothes, her black hair pulled back into a ponytail that swayed gently as she moved back and forth.
She hummed a tune under her breath as she made eggs and bacon, completely absorbed in the task, with a homely naturalness that made the scene strangely warm.
