The night was morning sun finally broke through, banishing the darkness, that they felt a sense of warmth return.
In the kitchen, Brandon, wearing an apron, was frying eggs with focused attention. The hum of the orange juice machine filled the air as it squeezed fresh juice.
Maria walked in, a smile tugging at her lips. "Brandon Carter, I'm making breakfast with you today."
Brandon nodded with a playful frown on his face. "Sure. You can make the spaghetti and ratatouille. Mine never quite tastes right."
Since his marriage, Brandon had spent his free time learning how to cook, explaining that "Nicolette works so hard in the army, I want her to eat well."
Though he didn't have a natural talent for cooking, he'd applied himself with determination, sticking to the simplest dishes. Over time, he'd become pretty good at making fried eggs, oatmeal, fresh orange juice, and mashed potatoes. The family had started calling him quite the dutiful husband.
