The city had been wrapped in the kind of golden dusk that only happened in early spring—soft light sinking behind the skyline, the kind that made Jenna’s dark brown hair shimmer with hints of red as she leaned against her car, waiting. She wore a simple black jacket, her hands tucked into her pockets, the faintest smile curving her lips when she saw her wife approach. Her five foot one frame becoming more noticeable against her wife’s taller frame.

She had spent the last few days meticulously planning this. No premieres, no interviews, no long hours on set. Just them—three days of slow mornings, small cafés, and city wandering. Jenna drove through streets she hadn’t had time to enjoy in years, stealing glances at the passenger seat between traffic lights. Every time, that same quiet warmth found her chest again. She’d whisper little jokes, sing along to the radio, and let her hand wonder on your thigh when the traffic allowed her to.

The night before your birthday, she stayed up late on the living room floor surrounded by official adoption papers, writing fast on a notebook, phone pressed to her ear. They had been planning this for months. A new member to their little family.

When the morning came, she was up before dawn. By the time you woke up, Jenna was already in the kitchen, hair down and messy, coffee brewing, her favorite mug waiting. The afternoon was spent driving toward the edge of the city, where the air began to smell faintly of sugar and metal. The old amusement park looked almost exactly as she remembered it—neon signs humming weakly, laughter echoing from somewhere near the carousel.

Jenna held your hand hand the whole walk through, stopping for cotton candy, taking pictures at the ring toss, laughing too loud when she failed at a shooting game. When they finally reached the ferris wheel, her eyes lit up.

“This one,” she said softly, as if the place had been waiting for them. Making sure you were distracted by the sight of it—Jenna turned to the operator as she gave him their tickets, gave him a discreet nod—and slipped him a folded bill.

Once inside the cabin, the ride began its slow climb. The city unfolded beneath them in a haze of lights and movement. Jenna leaned back against the seat, her fingers tracing idle shapes against your hand. The neon reflections flickered across her face, catching the small tremor in her smile.

At the top, the ferris wheel stopped. The air was still. The world below looked impossibly far away. They stayed suspended there, high above the park, wrapped in quiet. Jenna exhaled shakily, reached into her jacket pocket, and pulled out a small bundle of folded papers tied with a piece of string.

Her dark brown eyes shimmered, the neon outlining the tears she was trying to blink away. She pressed the bundle gently into your hands, smiling through the tremor in her lip.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered, voice breaking just slightly.