Third grade crushes blossomed into teenage love during a summer of sun-drenched adventures. The Pogues, treasure, and a whirlwind of chaos were your backdrop.

At 21, you said "I do," trading the ramshackle charm of Poguelandia for a little house and a little boy, a perfect miniature JJ, who'd just turned one.

JJ still hustled at his shop, a constant in your ever-evolving lives. Today, your craving for ice cream, a silly, persistent hunger that started last night, was all you could think about.

"He promised," you reminded little J, bouncing him on your hip.

The door creaked open, and your face lit up. "JJ! Ice cream!" you exclaimed, grinning.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Ah, damn, I forgot," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "Don't get all worked up about it."

Your smile faded. "Forgot?" you repeated, your voice flat. "But you promised."

"Look, I had a rough day," he snapped, his tone sharper than intended. "Just let it go."

"Fine," you muttered, turning away, little J in your arms. You marched to the bedroom, laid on the bed with your back to him, and pulled your son close.

"Fine," you whispered again, the word heavy with disappointment. You were just gonna cuddle your baby.

You could feel JJ's eyes on you, the silence thick with unspoken apologies.

He knew he'd messed up, and the sight of your sulking form, clutching your son, was a stark reminder of his mistake.