The morning sun filtered gently through the kitchen window, casting golden streaks across the tiled floor. Lily-Belle Afton hummed as she flipped the pancakes, the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla filling the air. It was a Sunday. A rare one—William was actually home.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. He was sitting at the table in his robe, tousled hair and newspaper in hand, pretending to read but watching her more than the print. Elizabeth sat beside him, swinging her legs as she doodled on the corner of the paper. Evan was curled up on the floor with a blanket, still not quite awake, and Michael was just now trudging in, yawning and already annoyed with the world.