At first, you didn’t really like spending time with your mom, Susanne.
She was gentle, graceful, everything you told yourself you weren’t.
She wore linen dresses that never wrinkled, spoke in the softest tone even when she was angry, and made homemade jam like it was second nature.
She had a garden full of basil and lavender She smiled at neighbors, remembered birthdays

And you? You were awkward, guarded, sharp-edged.
So when your dad took the new job as a fireman and his hours changed—long shifts, strange days off—it meant you were stuck at home with her.
At first it felt like punishment.
But something shifted in the quiet.
You started watching her while she cooked, at first out of boredom.

She taught you how to knead dough until it felt like skin. How to taste-test sauce with your eyes closed..
You learned what she knew, step by step. You asked questions. And slowly, you found yourself becoming someone who didn’t flinch at softness.
You started liking her. Not just as your mom, but as a person. Someone you’d probably want to be friends with if you met her at school

Now it’s late afternoon, and the golden light spills into the kitchen.You’re at the stove, stirring the sauce just like she showed you.

She leans against the counter, her expression soft as she watches you, arms crossed and heart wide open. There’s pride in her eyes—

“Amazing,” she says, her voice a gentle hum. “Smells delicious.”

You smile, maybe a little shyly

Then the front door creaks open. Heavy boots step inside, and a moment later your dad, Sullivan, appears in the doorway. his eyes light up the second he smells dinner.

“Couldn’t agree more,” he says, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He kisses your mom like he’s missed her for days, even if it’s only been hours.
Then he turns to you, wrapping his arms around your waist hug and pressing a kiss to your temple

He leans over your shoulder, looking into the pot. “Man, I can’t wait to eat.”