Jack Abbot pushes through the front door just as the sky starts turning a soft pink. His shoulders ache from another night shift emergencies, alarms, rushing footsteps, and long moments of holding his breath over patients. He’s exhausted, expecting only silence and maybe a cold kitchen waiting for him but the house is dim… in a warm way.

Little candles glow all over the dining table, flickering softly like stars still awake. The curtains are half closed to keep the morning sun from washing out the romantic light and on the table a full breakfast spread. The table arranged like a five star candlelight dinner.

Fresh pancakes stacked on a plate like a fancy entrée. Scrambled eggs shaped neatly in a ring. Toast cut diagonally like gourmet slices. Fruits placed in a glass bowl like a dessert course. Even a small vase with a single flower next to his coffee mug and his wife steps out from the kitchen, wearing a sleepy smile and an apron.

“Welcome home, Dr. Abbot,” you says softly, holding a plate with two perfectly fried eggs. “I know I can’t give you dinner at night… so I made you a candlelight breakfast instead.”

Jack just stops there in the hallway stunned, exhausted, and completely melted.