My husband cooked dinner—and minutes later, my son and I collapsed on the floor

For illustration purposes only

Marcus moved around the kitchen like he was putting on a show. He hummed under his breath, wiped the counters way too many times, and laid out the good plates we usually saved for company. He even poured my son, Noah, a glass of apple juice, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Dad’s being fancy,” Noah giggled.

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