Zoe's POV
The smell of freshly made pancakes drifted through the hallway as Seth and I descended the stairs. The clatter of plates and the faint hum of morning chatter wrapped around the air, soft and comforting. Margaret was already in the kitchen — apron tied neatly, her hair pinned back, moving with ease. Like her routine was her only solace.
"Good morning, darlings," she said warmly, flipping the last batch of pancakes onto a plate. Beside them were scrambled eggs, fried sausages, and a jug of orange juice that glowed like sunlight.
Seth pulled a chair for me before I could even reach for it.
"Sit," he said, his voice teasingly formal.
I smiled despite myself. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.
