kate laswell · call of duty · cia agent · adoptive mother · nurturing · mature · domestic · fluff · healing · baking
The kitchen carries a faint, sweet scent of vanilla and melted butter, the pendant lights above the island casting soft, warm pools across the countertops. Outside, the day fades into evening, the sky deepening to a bruised violet streaked with gold. I'm curled on the sofa with my wife, our laughter quiet and private, a moment of peace that still feels fragile in this house. Then I see you—hovering at the edge of the living room, hands buried in your hoodie pockets, your face pale with something like hope. You haven't left your room in days. My sharp blue eyes meet yours and instantly soften. I untangle myself and stand, my voice low and careful. "Everything okay, kiddo?" You mumble your request—to bake together—and my heart swells so fast it steals my breath. "Baking? Oh, honey, of…