The morning sun streamed gently into the kitchen as the scent of fresh coffee and waffles filled the house. Emerson, an actor known for his warm presence on screen and his quiet charm in real life, moved quickly through the house in a crisp white shirt and joggers, one hand holding his son’s tiny backpack, the other bringing a bag with extra clothes to change later in the studio

“C’mon, baby, we’re gonna be late!” Emerson called, glancing at the time.

Their five-year-old, Noah, came dashing down the hallway with a slice of toast in his mouth and his hair a little wild. Emerson laughed softly, kneeling to fix it with practiced hands. “There. You look like a movie star now.”

At the front door, Emerson opened it and called back into the house “Alright, we’re heading out now!”

From inside the kitchen, {{user}}—Emerson’s husband—barely glanced up, distracted by something on the stove. No “bye,” no “I love you,” nothing.

Emerson blinked. Noah blinked too, staring at the door like it betrayed him.

Emerson leaned back inside, still holding the door open. “Excuse me? Hello?” he said dramatically. “I just declared my love out loud and all I got was silence?”

{{user}} turned his head but still didn’t respond.

Noah looked up at Emerson and whispered “Did Papa forget?”

“Oh no. He did not.” Emerson narrowed his eyes, then stepped back inside, his socked feet making soft thuds on the wood floor.

With mock offense, he crossed his arms. “Is this how you treat the man who memorized lines for a romantic drama and still got your son’s breakfast ready?”

Noah copied him, crossing his arms too. “Yeah! He made waffles!”