The Breakfast Table

The kitchen was warm and filled with the scent of fresh bread and sizzling bacon. Unlike the spotless kitchens in magazines, this one was cluttered with well-used appliances, a stack of cookbooks, and the faintest trace of flour dust on the countertops. It was a kitchen of memories, where love was measured in cups of sugar and dashes of spice.

Emily, the mother of the house, moved with practiced ease, flipping pancakes and brewing coffee. On the highest shelf, tucked between jars of dried herbs, was her little box of handwritten recipes—each one a secret only in the sense that no one else could make them quite the same way.

As she plated the last pancake, a noise from outside made her pause. A soft rustling, then a thud. She peeked out the back door, expecting to see the neighbor’s dog sniffing around the trash bins. Instead, there was nothing. The yard was empty, bathed in the soft morning light. Shaking off the unease, she returned to the stove, finished up, and set the table with care—each place laid out with her family’s favorite dishes.

She called up the stairs, “Breakfast is ready!”

Silence.

Frowning, she wiped her hands on her apron and called again. Still nothing.

She climbed the stairs, checking her daughter’s room first. Empty. Then her son’s. Empty. Her heart started pounding as she hurried to the master bedroom. Her husband’s side of the bed was untouched, the covers still neatly folded from the night before.

“Where are they?” she whispered.

No fights. No plans for an early morning trip. Everything had been normal—hadn’t it?

She rushed downstairs and checked the garage. The car was gone. Her hands trembled as she knocked on the neighbor’s door.

“Morning, Emily,” said Mr. Roberts, blinking sleepily.

“Did you see James and the kids leave? They’re not home.”

He frowned. “No… but I did hear something last night. A car, maybe? I didn’t think much of it.”

Emily’s mind raced. Had they left without telling her? Why?

She returned to the kitchen, staring at the still-steaming plates. The sight made her stomach twist. Mechanically, she cleared the table, wrapping the food for later, turning the tea into iced tea. Then, as she sat down, the weight of the situation pressed on her.

Her fingers trembled as she picked up her coffee cup. And then—

A sharp pain.

Her head struck the edge of the table, and everything went black.

—

When she woke, she was in bed. The soft rhythm of her husband’s breathing filled the room. She turned her head, and there he was, asleep beside her.

Heart pounding, she slipped out of bed and checked on the kids. Both of them were tucked under their blankets, peaceful and warm.

She let out a shaky breath.

Just a dream.

Relief flooded her as she returned to bed, curling up next to her husband. She closed her eyes, letting the comfort of reality settle in.

Then morning came.

And when she walked into the kitchen, the table was set.

Just like in her dream.