Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air. Mark leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as his wife, Anya, expertly kneaded the dough. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He felt a serene contentment watching her.

She looked up, her face flushed with the heat of the oven, and said, "Ça va?"

Mark’s jaw dropped slightly. He’d known she was taking French lessons, but hearing her speak it in their kitchen, surrounded by the familiar comfort of their home, was different.

He chuckled. "You're amazing." He felt a sense of belonging, of being exactly where he was supposed to be.