The smell of bacon and coffee woke me. It was a gentle, comforting aroma that cut through the haze of sleep, a stark contrast to the usual shrill alarm that dragged me from my dreams.
I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains of our bedroom. For a moment, I was disoriented. This was home. My apartment had become our home over the past few months, a sanctuary from the beautiful chaos of my life.
I slid out of bed, the wooden floor cool beneath my feet, and followed the scent to the kitchen. And there she was. Emma, her back to me, standing at the stove. Her fiery red hair was a splash of vibrant color in the soft morning light, tied up in a messy bun that somehow looked effortlessly perfect.
