I was racing down the street, dodging the usual rush-hour crowd, my mind set on one thing: dinner at home. My heart was pounding in my chest as I pushed through the front door, almost stumbling over my feet in haste.
"Hey, I'm home!" I call out, hoping my voice cuts through the clatter from the kitchen. As I step into the hallway, the smell of garlic and onions hits me like a wave. Tatiana's busy at the stove, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, wearing that apron I got her for our anniversary. She was in her element, focused and graceful, flipping something in the pan with a practiced hand. She looked up and smiled at me, her eyes sparkling with that familiar warmth.
