Chapter 1 – Good Morning, Sunshine

"Daddy! I'm late!"

The voice bounced through the hallway before a pair of small footsteps thumped after it across the wooden floor.

"I'm coming," Ethan called from the kitchen. "And you're not late. You still have—" he glanced at the clock, "—twenty-seven minutes."

Lily Brooks skidded into the doorway, backpack hanging off one shoulder, one sock rolled halfway down her ankle. She folded her arms.

"It feels late."

Ethan crouched down and tugged the sock back into place. "Feeling late and being late aren't the same thing."

"Hm." She considered that with all the gravity a five-year-old could summon. "I still think we're late."

"I'll argue with you after breakfast."

She nodded once, apparently satisfied with the compromise, and the smell of butter and toasted bread pulled her the rest of the way into the kitchen. Morning light slipped through the curtains in warm lines across the table, where Amelia stood at the stove flipping pancakes with the ease of long practice.

"Did our little alarm clock wake up the neighbors again?" she asked without turning around.

"I wasn't loud," Lily protested.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "No?"

Lily looked at the ceiling, as if it might back her up. "...Maybe a little."

Amelia laughed and set the last pancake on a plate before finally turning, a few loose strands of hair catching the light. "One pancake tower," she announced, sliding it in front of Lily.

Lily's eyes lit up. "You made the tall ones!"

"I did."

"I love you."

The words came out so naturally that Amelia paused half a second before smiling. "I love you too."

Ethan pressed a hand to his chest. "I made your lunch."

Lily glanced at him. "I love you too."

"That sounded suspiciously automatic."

"It was," she said, giggling.

"I've been outsmarted before eight in the morning," Ethan sighed, and Amelia hid her laugh behind her hand.

"You walked into that one."

"...I suppose I did."

They ate together — pancakes, scrambled eggs, sliced strawberries, warm milk — nothing extraordinary, just the ordinary sounds of a neighborhood waking up around them: a cyclist passing the gate, a dog barking twice down the street and going quiet, the newspaper landing on the porch with a soft thud. The kind of sounds people rarely noticed until they were gone.

Lily poured syrup with more enthusiasm than precision, and it spilled over the plate's edge. She froze.

"...Oops."

Ethan reached for a napkin without a word, and together they cleaned it up.

"No syrup emergency today?"

"I don't know what happened," Lily said innocently.

"The bottle attacked?"

She nodded solemnly. "I was very brave."

"Our daughter is already blaming innocent syrup bottles," Amelia said, shaking her head.

"I'm defending myself."

"I can see that."

Between bites, Lily's questions came the way they always did — sideways and relentless. "Daddy? If birds don't go to school, how do they learn to fly?"

Ethan leaned back. "I imagine they have very patient parents."

"So... bird kindergarten?"

"Probably."

"You two make surprisingly convincing arguments," Amelia said.

"We've had years of practice," Ethan said, lowering his voice like it was a secret.

"I've been alive for five," Lily said.

"Exactly."

She nodded as if that settled the matter completely.

After breakfast, Ethan carried the dishes to the sink. "I'll wash."

"I'll dry," Amelia said.

"You cooked."

"So?"

"So I should help."

"You always do," she said softly, and he shrugged.

"I married a wonderful cook."

"I thought you married me because I laughed at your terrible jokes."

"That too." She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Good answer."

They fell into the rhythm without discussing it — one washing, one drying, plates changing hands the way they had for years. Behind them, Lily sat cross-legged on the rug, trying to convince a stuffed rabbit to wear a tiny knitted hat.

"It looks nice," she whispered. The rabbit offered no opinion. She turned the hat sideways. "Better."

"Who are you talking to?" Ethan asked over his shoulder.

"Mr. Buttons. He says he likes blue."

"Does he?"

"He told me."

"Then we should trust Mr. Buttons," Amelia said without looking up.

"See?" Lily held the rabbit high. "Mommy believes me."

"I've been defeated again," Ethan murmured.

By eight, backpacks were zipped, lunchboxes packed, shoes tied. Lily stood by the front door in a yellow raincoat under a perfectly clear sky.

Ethan frowned. "...It's not raining."

"I know."

"Then why the raincoat?"

"In case the sky changes its mind."

"That's actually good planning," Amelia said, laughing, and Ethan raised both hands in surrender.

"I've been outvoted."

Lily reached for his hand. "Let's go."

"Yes, Captain."

Outside, the crisp morning air met them on a quiet, tree-lined street where everyone still knew each other by name. Mrs. Reed was watering the flowers along her fence and looked up as Lily skipped past.

"Good morning, sunshine."

"Morning, Grandma Reed!"

"You look ready for an adventure."

"I'm going to kindergarten."

Mrs. Reed gasped dramatically. "Already?"

"I'm very important."

"I can see that." She reached into her apron pocket and produced a wrapped candy. "One piece." Lily glanced at Amelia, silently asking, and got a nod in return.

"Thank you!"

"Have a wonderful day."

"You too!"

As they kept walking, Ethan leaned down. "You know the rule."

Lily sighed. "After dinner."

"Exactly."

"I was hoping you'd forget."

"I never forget candy."

"...Worth trying."

Amelia slipped her hand into Ethan's, and he squeezed it — not enough to stop her, just enough to remind her he was there. She glanced up at him. He smiled. Neither of them said anything. Some things didn't need words.

They walked the rest of the way to the corner where the school bus would arrive, their shadows stretching long across the sidewalk. To anyone passing, they looked like an ordinary family starting another ordinary day.

For now, that was the greatest happiness any of them needed.