The winter had settled in like a decision no one had voted on. Cold, steady, and stubborn. No snow to soften it, no sparkle on the sidewalks or hush in the air—just bare trees rattling in the wind and a sky that stayed the color of old dishwater. The kind of winter that made the house feel smaller and the mornings heavier.

Inside, though, the kitchen was warm.

The stove clicked and hissed, and the air smelled like butter and batter and coffee that had been sitting just long enough to be good. Mark stood at the griddle in socked feet, sleeves rolled up, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes with the careful confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times and still treated it like a small responsibility entrusted to him.

“Okay,” he said, peering down at the pancake as it bubbled. “This one is art. Observe the symmetry.”

“Dad,” groaned his daughter from the table. “It’s a pancake.”

Lena was fourteen and had perfected the posture of someone deeply unimpressed by the world. Hoodie pulled tight, knees tucked to her chest on the chair, chin resting in her palm. Her hair was still damp from a rushed shower, and she stared at her phone like it had personally betrayed her.

Mark didn’t look at her. “Ah. Spoken like someone who does not appreciate culinary geometry.”

Across the table, Evan was bouncing in his seat, legs kicking the chair legs in a rhythm that was absolutely not intentional and therefore impossible to stop. “Can I have the first one? I want the big one. The one shaped like a dinosaur.”

“They’re all circles,” Lena muttered.

“Circles can be dinosaurs if you believe hard enough,” said Sarah, swooping in with plates stacked against her hip. She moved fast, always fast, like the day itself might fall behind if she didn’t keep nudging it along. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, curls escaping the messy knot at the back of her head. She set plates down with a flourish. “Besides, Evan, dinosaurs didn’t eat pancakes. They ate—”

“Everything!” Evan shouted.

“—plants,” Sarah finished brightly. “And other dinosaurs. Mostly plants.”

Mark flipped the pancake. Perfectly golden. He slid it onto a plate and turned just in time to see a gray blur streak across the counter.

“No,” he said calmly.

Too late.

Whiskers, the cat, had been waiting. He launched himself with the precision of a creature who had been planning this since the first whiff of butter hit the air. One paw hooked the edge of the pancake. Gravity did the rest.

The pancake vanished off the counter.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Evan gasped. “THE CAT STOLE IT.”

Whiskers bolted across the kitchen, pancake dragging behind him like a flag, skidding around the corner toward the hallway.

“Oh absolutely not,” Sarah said, already moving. “That had butter on it.”

Mark leaned against the counter, watching the chaos unfold. “I told you,” he said mildly, “he’s been studying our routines.”

Lena snorted before she could stop herself.

She froze.

Mark’s head snapped around. His eyes lit up like he’d just won something.

“Oh,” he said softly. “There it is.”

“It was a cough,” Lena said immediately, pulling her hood up.

“A cough that sounded suspiciously like joy,” Mark said, pointing the spatula at her. “I will treasure it forever.”

Sarah returned, pancake rescued but now slightly furry. She dropped it into the trash with a sigh. “Winter really does things to us, doesn’t it?”

Outside, the wind rattled the windows again, sharp and empty. No snow coming. Just cold.

Inside, Mark poured more batter onto the griddle. The stove hummed. Evan drummed his hands on the table. Whiskers sat in the doorway, tail flicking, unrepentant.

Lena reached for her fork.

“Dad?” she said.

“Yes?”

“…make mine with extra chocolate chips.”

Mark smiled and turned back to the stove.