A quiet fire crackles with vigour in the corner of the room. You sit, listening to it, the hum of the fire slicing through the wood, the snap of the air, the warmth that gently travels across the room.
It’s winter, but it’s not cold. It’s not just the fire, but it’s the warmth of the house. The quiet snoozing of your husband on the sofa. The quietness upstairs, where your children are asleep. The dog that lazily chews her toy on the floor.
A quiet family. All yours.
They’re all yours.
Alex.J.Cobalt 