It was the kind of morning that felt too perfect to be disrupted by anything—or anyone. The sun streamed through the kitchen windows, casting lazy golden rays over the breakfast table.
Ethan was sitting across from me, his coffee cup halfway to his lips, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched me chase the last few pieces of scrambled eggs around my plate.
Mila, as usual, was busy texting under the table, probably distracted by some meme or a message from Julian (who still liked to send cryptic art photos with zero context).
The familiar sound of my brothers' laughter and bickering filled the air, as they tried to outdo each other with exaggerated stories of their college days. Marcus was telling one of his infamous 'business horror stories,' gesturing wildly with his fork.
