The morning sun cast golden light over the sprawling lawns of the White House. The tension of the past few months had finally begun to ease, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Matthew was not sitting in a war room, staring at maps of foreign territories or discussing diplomatic strategies.
Today, he was just a husband. A father.
Amber sat across from him at the breakfast table in the private dining room, sipping tea. The scent of fresh bread, eggs, and bacon filled the air. It was a simple meal, one that Matthew had barely had time to enjoy lately.
"You look tired," Amber remarked, setting her cup down.
Matthew smirked, cutting into his eggs. "I am. But at least I get to be tired at home instead of in a briefing room."
Amber nodded, stirring a bit of honey into her tea. "I missed this."
He reached for her hand across the table, squeezing gently. "So did I."
"How's Maverick?"
