Sometimes, Sylvia felt more at peace with the pigeons in the park than with her husband at home. The only time during the week she felt appreciated and needed was when she fed bread to the birds. But this time, her routine changed when a strange, trained pigeon brought her a note.
It was a Saturday morning, my favorite time of the week. As usual, I woke up early, letting the golden sunlight filter softly through the curtains.
The house was quiet, and I loved it that way.
I put on a cozy sweater, made my way to the kitchen, and flipped on the television, setting it to a soft music channel.
The gentle hum of a piano floated through the air as I began my routine—preparing breakfast, wiping counters, and tidying up dishes.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The clinking of plates and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee brought a rare kind of peace I cherished.
I hummed along to the music, finding comfort in these little moments of solitude. It was as if the world stood still, just for me.
But that peace didn’t last long. Without warning, the music cut off and was replaced by the loud roar of a football game. I froze, realizing Simon was awake.
My stomach tightened, and I glanced toward the living room, where I could already hear his voice.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“You’ve got that nonsense playing first thing on a Saturday? Can’t even get proper sleep around here!” he barked, his tone sharp, slicing through the quiet.
“I’m sorry, dear,” I said softly, trying to sound calm. “I thought I’d get some cleaning done…”
“Couldn’t you have done that earlier?” he snapped, rubbing his eyes. “Now just bring me my breakfast and don’t bother me.”
Without another word, I prepared his plate—eggs, toast, and coffee—and set it in front of him.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
He didn’t even look at me. It was like I was invisible, just another part of the furniture he’d grown tired of.
I sighed quietly, grabbed my coat, and slipped out the door, my shoes clicking softly on the front steps.
Outside, the air was crisp and fresh. For the first time that morning, I felt like I could breathe.
This was my favorite part of Saturday. The world seemed calm, the morning air cool and crisp as I strolled through the park.
Sunlight trickled through the branches of the old oak trees, and I could hear the faint laughter of children playing in the distance.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
It was my little slice of happiness, a moment where life felt simple and still.
My walk brought me to the small bakery near the park, a charming shop that had been there for as long as I could remember.
The golden scent of freshly baked bread drifted through the open door, inviting me in like an old friend.
Inside, Mr. Collins, the elderly shop owner, greeted me with his usual wide smile.
“Mrs. Sylvia! Every Saturday like clockwork—you’re the most punctual person I know!” he said, his voice warm and familiar.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Thank you, Mr. Collins, but don’t exaggerate,” I replied with a laugh, feeling the corners of my mouth lift in a rare smile.
That’s when I noticed a new face behind the counter—a younger man with tousled brown hair and a hint of shyness in his expression.
He had just entered, carrying a crate full of baked goods.
“Dad, where should I put this?” the young man asked, his voice steady but soft.