The rice cooker clicked. Cami counted to three before lifting the lid.
A cloud of steam rose anyway, brushing her cheeks before drifting toward the window above the sink.
She waited for it to clear, then reached for the rice paddle. Too early and the grains stuck together. Too late and breakfast was late. Neither was worth hearing about.
She loosened the rice with slow, practiced movements before closing the lid again. The kettle behind her had already begun its quiet hum.
Right on time.
Without thinking, she found herself humming along with it. It wasn't a song. Just a few notes she'd carried for years, changing a little every morning until they belonged to no one but her.
She set four bowls on the counter. She'd never needed a fifth.
Eggs came next.
One, Two, Three, Four.
She cracked them into a bowl, catching a tiny shard of shell with the tip of a chopstick before it could disappear into the mixture.
The refrigerator quietly restocks itself because groceries are delivered before anything runs out.
She took out the vegetables, closed the door with her hip, and reached for the knife.
The first slice landed neatly against the board. The second followed. Soon the only sounds in the kitchen were the steady rhythm of the knife, the simmer of soup, and the kettle breathing to itself.
Morning was her favorite part of the day. Not because she liked waking early, rather the house hadn't decided what mood it was in yet.
She liked those few quiet minutes when nobody needed anything from her.
Beyond the dining room windows, the gardens were still silver with morning dew. The gardeners wouldn't arrive for another hour. Beyond the trees, the roofs of neighboring estates peeked through the summer haze, separated by stone walls high enough that nobody looked into anyone else's life.
Almost on cue—
Footsteps.
They weren't small or hurried. They were measured.
Cami lowered the heat beneath the soup before the kitchen door opened.
Cha Yeon Hwa leaned against the frame for a second before stepping inside. Even at this hour, she looked as though she were about to leave for a photoshoot instead of breakfast. Her ivory satin robe fell neatly over a fitted lounge set, every crease exactly where it should be. Gold earrings caught the morning light when she tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind one ear.
She didn't greet anyone. Her eyes swept across the counter first, then the stove, then Cami.
"Cami."
"Yes, Aunt?"
"What time is it?"
Cami glanced toward the microwave.
"Seven twenty."
"And breakfast?"
"Almost ready."
Yeon Hwa walked to the island counter, setting her phone down without unlocking it.
"You've been saying 'almost' every morning."
"...I'm sorry."
"I wasn't asking for an apology."
Cami lowered her eyes.
A quiet silence settled between them.
Yeon Hwa lifted the lid off one of the serving dishes, looked inside, then replaced it.
"Tomorrow," she said, "I'm eating at home."
Cami nodded.
"I'd like an English breakfast."
"Okay."
"Crispy bacon."
"Mm."
"Not burnt."
"Yes."
"The eggs should still be soft."
"I understand."
"And toast. Proper toast, not dry bread pretending to be toast."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Yeon Hwa's lips, gone almost before it appeared.
"You've improved."
"I'll do my best."
"I know."
She picked an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve.
"That's why I expect better."
There wasn't any anger, no shouting, no insults in her voice. Just expectation.
For some reason, those were always the words that stayed with Cami the longest.
Yeon Hwa reached for her phone again.
"I'm leaving early today. Make sure the twins finish breakfast before they start playing."
"I will."
"And don't let Cheon convince Goo Baek that vegetables are poisonous again."
"...I'll try."
"You'll fail."
"...Probably."
Yeon Hwa gave a quiet, satisfied hum.
"There. That sounded honest."
She turned and left the kitchen. A moment later, Cami heard a bedroom door close somewhere upstairs. Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding. The soup had almost boiled over.
She reached for the spoon before it spilled.
Not today. Not if she could help it.
Behind her, tiny footsteps slapped against the wooden floor.
"Noona!"
Cami smiled before she even turned around.
Cheon stood in the doorway wearing dinosaur pajamas instead of the kindergarten uniform he'd been told to put on ten minutes earlier.
His hair pointed in every direction. One sock was missing. The stuffed rabbit tucked under his arm looked far more awake than he did.
He blinked at her.
"...I had a dream."
"Did you?"
He nodded very seriously.
"It had pancakes."
Cami looked at the breakfast she'd already made.
"...That's unfortunate."
He sighed.
"I know."
And from somewhere deeper in the hallway came another sleepy little voice.
"Cheon..."
A pause.
"...You took my rabbit again."
Cheon looked down at the toy tucked beneath his arm.
"...Oh."
He thought for a second, then hugged it tighter.
"...Maybe."
The morning, at last, had truly begun.