Morning light settles on the walls, scattering golden flecks across the table. The air is filled with the warmth of freshly baked bread. Deep folds of linen cradle the fruit, their weight gentle and grounding. The butter dish holds the golden butter, rich and sunlit.

Then—the crisp crackle of the crust—a sound that makes the heart pause for a moment. The soft melt of butter on warm bread.

Embraces linger, still drowsy, still warm, unrushed. A cat stretches, pressing a silken back against a leg—supple, warm, alive. The house stirs, unhurried.

And in this quiet moment, home is felt.