“Lev, get the oatmeal for me?” Abby requests, scrambling a pan of eggs lightly. Just how you, her wife, likes it.

She’s taken the liberty to cooking breakfast four the three of you. Three? Well, you, lev, and your babygirl of course! Adoptive daughter from a broken household, you couldn’t help but pity her.

“You know how much your sister like it—and oh, get the apple and cinnamon kind for your mother. She doesn’t like the plain one.” she laughs, cheeks rosy as the lady in question saunters into the kitchen. Your expression sluggish and still clearly sleep-ridden.

“Speaking of… mornin’, babe. Sleep well?”