Baked a loaf that tasted like home

Just pulled this sourdough from the oven—crust crackling, steam curling like old memories. It took me three tries to get the crumb right, but today it held. I kept thinking of Marcus, how he’d say 'this is what patience tastes like' when the crust split just so. The kitchen smells like burnt sugar and salt, like the mess we never cleaned up after drills. I didn’t mean to make it for him. But here it is—warm, uneven, real.