Roughly twenty minutes pass, and the scent of wheat fills the air. I grab the paddle and begin pulling the finished bread out of the oven.

As they sit on the cooling racks, I hear soft crackling. The bread is a bit larger than it should be, but it's fine. Steam will escape as they cool, lessening the volume. 

And as that steam passes through the hardened, perfectly baked crust, a symphony of mouth watering sounds fill the air. I really outdid myself here. Hopefully, my parents like them, but they're not very picky about this kind of thing.

If they were good at baking then we wouldn't exactly be so broke.

I take a still warm loaf of bread, slicing off a few pieces. The butter I spread over the slices melts in a way so that it glides perfectly to cover the whole surface, and then I'm ready to go.

To be honest, I really hate things like confrontation, or public speaking, or pressure, or talking to literally anyone at all. I can feel my palms getting sweaty watching my father lift the bread to his mouth. He bites down. My breath gets caught in my throat.

This is my only chance. I have to succeed here or I'll never amount to anything for the rest of my life. This bread is the closest thing to a destiny I'll ever get. I just have to hope that it's good enough.

My father falls to his knees, crying. My mother tries to comfort him with her embrace, but he just won't stop sobbing.

Was it that bad?

I guess I lost my chance...

"...ide."

I look towards my father who rabidly swallows down bites of bread faster than his mouth can chew. Is it so disgusting that he's trying to suffocate himself?

"IT'S JUST SO FLUFFY INSIDE!!"

My father yells to what I can only assume to be some foreign deity in the sky. His desperate voice that booms over his tears fills the town square, and people begin flooding in. Lots of people. Yikes.

So I sneak out the back door before anyone notices. I kind of have this secret place in the woods where I hang out since literally nobody is ever there. It's this huge willow tree in the center of a clearing. A one of a kind napping spot! 

There's no need to stress about whatever existential crises my father is currently suffering from, and I close my eyes while leaning against the wide trunk.