The other side of the bed was empty when I woke up.

For a second, my brain didn't quite register it. I reached over, expecting to feel her warmth, her hair brushing against my arm, something. But all I found was cool linen and silence.

I sat up, squinting at the clock on the nightstand. 7:46 a.m.

Sunday. No meetings. No calls. No deadlines.

Just the kind of morning that used to mean slow breakfasts, shared coffee, and her legs tangled over mine on the couch while she read emails out loud just to make me laugh.

I rubbed a hand over my face.

We'd made up last night, hadn't we? We'd talked, really talked. For the first time in weeks, it hadn't felt like we were standing on opposite ends of a fault line.

So where was she?

The bathroom was empty, the sink still dry. Her towel wasn't on the rack.

I changed into a black T-shirt and joggers, then headed downstairs, Duchess' faint meow echoing somewhere below.

Halfway down the stairs, I found them — Aline and Duchess, on the living room rug.

The cat was lazily batting at a ribbon Aline dangled above her, tail flicking, eyes bright.

Of course.

It was official: Duchess loved Aline more than she loved either of us.

Aline looked up just before I reached the last step. "Good morning, Mr. Tanaka."

"Morning," I said, smiling a little. "You're up early."

"So is Duchess," she said, setting the ribbon aside. "She followed me the moment I came downstairs."

"Traitor," I muttered at the cat. Duchess blinked at me and turned her head away like she didn't hear it.

Aline laughed softly. "Mrs. Tanaka's in the kitchen," she added, straightening. "She said she'll be cooking breakfast today."

I froze mid-step. "She—what?"

"She said she wanted to cook," Aline repeated, amusement flickering in her eyes. "I tried to insist, but she told me it was her turn to 'be useful.' Her words, not mine."

For some reason, that made my chest feel lighter than it had in weeks.

"Thank you, Aline," I said.

She smiled knowingly. "You're welcome, sir. I'll, uh, keep Duchess occupied."

"Appreciated," I replied, though I wasn't sure if I meant it.

I followed the smell before I even reached the doorway. It wasn't overpowering — just the faint, rich aroma of herbs and butter and something warm that reminded me of home.

Val stood by the counter, one hand holding a wooden spoon, the other adjusting the heat on the stove. She was humming softly under her breath, a half-tune I couldn't quite place.

Her hair was loose, tucked behind one ear, and the morning light poured in through the windows, catching in the strands like gold threads.

I leaned against the doorframe, quietly.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her like this — focused, peaceful, humming like the world outside the kitchen didn't exist.

She turned slightly, and her eyes met mine almost instantly.

"Morning, husband," she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That word — husband — hit harder than I expected. It was the first time she'd called me that in weeks.

"Morning, wife," I said, voice softer than I meant.

She smiled, not the polite kind she wore at events, but a real one. "Go sit. Breakfast will be ready in five."

"Yes, ma'am," I said automatically, grinning as I crossed to the dining table.

It felt ridiculous how happy I was just from that — watching her move around the kitchen, tasting something with the back of a spoon, plating food with that quiet concentration she always had when she cooked.

When she finally brought the dishes out, I started to rise to help her, but she reached over and tapped my hand lightly.

"I've got it," she said. "Sit."

"Yes, chef."

Her eyes flicked up briefly, and the corner of her mouth twitched.

When she finally sat down, I couldn't help but smile at her.

"What?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Nothing," I said. "You're just… really good at this."

"At cooking?" she asked, raising a brow.

"At pretending you don't know you're happy right now."

She blinked, then smirked faintly. "And you're really good at pretending you're subtle."

I chuckled. "Guess we're both talented."

"Eat," she said, though her tone was soft.

I took a bite of the omelette — fluffy, perfectly seasoned, just a hint of herbs.

It wasn't just good, it was hers.

I closed my eyes for a second. "God, I missed this."

When I looked up again, she was watching me, but she looked away as soon as our eyes met and reached for her fork. She waited for me to take a few bites before starting hers, like always.

But this time, she didn't ask how it was.

I smiled. "You're not gonna ask?"

She looked up, pretending to chew. "Ask what?"

"How the food tastes."

She swallowed and said with a straight face, "I already know it's perfect."

I laughed. "Right. How could I forget?"

> "You shouldn't."

She said it so seriously that I laughed again, shaking my head. "Unbelievable."

Aline, from where she sat with Duchess in the living room, glanced over and smiled faintly. She'd seen the quiet tension between us these past weeks, the distant looks, the awkward silences.

Seeing us like this again must've felt like watching a storm finally clear.

For a while, neither of us said anything. The clink of forks and the hum of the air conditioner filled the room.

But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence anymore.

It was warm. Familiar. Ours.

When we were done, she leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. "Okay, maybe you can say it now."

"Say what?" I asked, confused.

"How amazing the food was," she said with mock seriousness.

I laughed, shaking my head. "It was perfect, Mrs. Tanaka."

She smiled, just barely. "Good answer."

Her eyes were lighter now. Softer.

She reached for her water, sipping slowly, and for a moment, it was easy to forget that the world outside this kitchen even existed.

That was the thing about Val.

She didn't have to say I forgive you or we're okay now. She just… showed it. In small ways like this — in the food, the quiet teasing, the warmth behind her words.

And God, I'd missed that.

Aline passed by with Duchess in her arms. "Breakfast smells divine," she said politely.

Val smiled up at her. "Thank you, Aline. You can have the rest if you want."

"Don't mind if I do," Aline said, grinning as she disappeared toward the kitchen.

I looked at Val. "You're really trying to bribe her loyalty, huh?"

Val's eyes narrowed playfully. "If food keeps her from siding with Duchess, then yes."

I laughed again, pushing my chair back slightly, still watching her.

She caught me staring and drew back with mock offense. "What?"

"Nothing," I said softly. "Just… glad you're here."

Her expression shifted, the faintest bit of pink touching her cheeks. "I live here, Kai."

"You know what I mean."

She didn't reply, but she smiled again, small, quiet, and genuine.

The morning light caught her eyes just right, and for the first time in weeks, the heaviness in my chest eased.

Maybe they weren't completely okay yet.

But this — this was a start.

I could feel it in the warmth of the kitchen, in the soft sound of her hum returning as she stood to clear the table, in the quiet way her hand brushed against mine when she took my plate.

And as I watched her move around, calm and graceful as ever, one thought slipped through before I could stop it:

I don't ever want to lose this again.

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To be continued...

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