For days now, there’s been this tight pull in your chest, like something you can’t quite breathe past.

The thoughts. The doubts. The memories.

You wake up almost every day with a lump in your throat.

And no matter how often you tell yourself everything is fine, your heart doesn’t seem to believe you.

Today is one of those days again.

You’re standing in the kitchen, staring at the bowl in front of you.

Baking helps. Usually.

It gives you structure, clear steps. A recipe you’ve made a thousand times before.

But today, half the flour misses the bowl. A white cloud settles over the counter. “Great…” You mutter under your breath. “Can’t even get this right anymore.”

You crack the eggs. One. Two. Three…four.

You stare into the bowl for a moment. The recipe says only two. You know that. You know it by heart and still, the fourth egg is already in there.

Lando is sitting on the couch, laptop on his knees. You know he’s watching you from the living room.

Not obviously.

But every now and then he looks up from the screen, glancing over as if he’s considering whether to say something, but he doesn’t.

You press your lips together and stir faster, as if you could fold your thoughts into the batter and bake them away.

When the cookies are finally in the oven, you turn on music. Way too loud. Some song you’ve heard a hundred times before.

You start cleaning. Too fast, too frantic. Like if you just keep moving, you won’t have to feel.

You wipe down the counter, empty cupboards, rearrange things that don’t need rearranging.

Lando is still on the couch, his laptop still on his lap and he’s still watching you.

Your quick movements, the way you quietly sing along, or rather mumble, to the music, how tense your shoulders are, the way you sometimes just stop and stare into nothing.

When you’re done, you drop onto the far end of the couch with a long, exhausted groan, throwing your arm over your eyes.

Silence. Just the music in the background.

You can feel his gaze on you before he even speaks. “Everything okay, baby?” His voice is soft, careful, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

You just hum in response. You can’t manage more. If you speak, your voice will break.

A few seconds pass. Then you smell it…that sharp, biting scent.

Your eyes snap open and you jump up. “Shit!”

Lando startles. “What? What is it?!” He closes his laptop, sets it aside, and quickly follows you.

You yank the oven door open and switch it off. Heat rushes toward you. With an oven mitt, you pull the tray out and slam it onto the counter.

Black. Almost all the cookies are black, except maybe six or seven at the edges.

For a moment, you say nothing.

Then it spills out.

“I can’t even bake stupid cookies!” Your voice cracks. “How stupid can someone be? I’ve made this recipe a hundred times, Lando! A hundred times!”

Your eyes burn, tears spill over, even though you try to blink them away.

He stands behind you but doesn’t say anything at first. He just steps closer and watches you, silently.

“Hey…they’re just cookies.." His voice is quiet, careful, like he’s speaking to a wounded animal.

Then he turns you slowly toward him, lifting your face with two fingers so you look at him.

His eyes are soft. “You’ve been so hard on yourself for days. But you’re not stupid. And you’re definitely not worth any less just because some cookies burned.” He leans his forehead against yours.

“Stop doing that to yourself, okay? You’re incredible. You do everything for everyone. You’re always functioning. And if you don’t function for once, that’s okay too.”

Your hands clutch his shirt. “I just...feel like I’m too much. And at the same time not enough.”

His grip tightens slightly.

"You’re not too much. And you’re never not enough. You’re exactly right.” He brushes his thumb over your cheek.

“And the cookies? Definitely not a big deal.” He nods toward the tray. “We’ll just eat the six good ones. But first, we’re ordering pizza...what do you say?”