Waking up to the smell of cooking breakfast was the best thing in the world to her.
The bed would be empty, but she'd know where he was.
She'd roll off a bed and throw on the nearest t-shirt, even if it wasn't hers, and stretch, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
She'd take a deep breath and look out the window.
She'd see cars driving by and children up and running.
She'd leave the room to find him in the kitchen, humming some old rock song.
She'd smile and hug him from behind, but he wouldn't jump; he knew it was her.
He'd turn and plant a kiss on her forehead and maybe on her cheeks.
He'd tell her good morning and pull her in close.
She'd nuzzle into his chest and mumble a reply.
He'd laugh and smile.
She'd look up into his eyes and know she found it.

She found home.