One Morning, At Breakfast…

The kitchen was already alive with the sticky sweet scent of jam and eggs when Phil came down the stairs and saw Laura at the stove, spatula in one hand, firm grip on a skillet with the other. “Morning, honey,” she cheerfully called out. Phil smiled, still fussing with his tie. “Good morning, my sweet cupcake.” From underneath the table, Phil’s bull terrier Ramsey lazily swaggered over to him, eager for an approaching breakfast handout; Phil playfully scratched behind the dog’s ear before sitting down. Carefully arranged around him at…