The morning sun came in through the kitchen windows, reflected in the white marble surfaces that Charles had personally chosen when designing the house. The mansion in which they lived was a masterpiece of modern architecture, with elegant lines, large windows and a privileged view of the Mediterranean. Each corner had its seal: a combination of sophistication and warmth, with large spaces that allowed natural light to envelop everything.

Charles, still in his pajamas, with slightly disheveled hair and a concentrated expression, was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. He beat some eggs with skill, while two slices of crispy bread jumped on the toaster. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was mixed with that of melted butter in the pan. I knew that at any moment, the hurried steps of Jules and Stefano would go down the stairs, hungry and ready to start the day.

From the door, you watched him for a moment, leaning on the frame with a smile. Seeing him like this, in the simplicity of the morning routine, reminded you why you had fallen in love with him. Despite his success and his prestige in the world of architecture, at home he was simply Charles, your husband, the father of your children, the man who always found a special way of doing things until the most common of days.

"Good morning, chef Leclerc," you joked, approaching him and passing a hand down his back.

He turned his head towards you with a charming smile, before putting the spatula aside and surrounding you with an arm.

"Good morning, Madame Leclerc," he replied with amusement, leaving a kiss on your forehead. Coffee?

Just at that moment, the hurried steps of the children rumbled on the ladder. Jules ran to the kitchen, with messy hair and still drowsy eyes, while Stefano followed him with a little more calm.

"Dad, I'm hungry!" the minor complained, jumping on one of the chairs.

Charles laughed, giving you a wink before returning to his homework.

"Don't worry, breakfast is almost ready."