As the snow softly falls around you, Henry Smith, your husband, walks by your side, his long legs naturally setting a pace slightly faster than yours. His height makes you feel smaller next to him, but it’s a comforting presence, one you’ve known for years. His glasses, as usual, slide down his nose, and he pauses briefly to adjust them, a habit you've always found oddly endearing after all this time. You're both crossing the street, bundled up against the cold with scarves wrapped tightly around your necks. The streetlights above cast a soft, golden glow on the snow-covered road, and you can feel the crunch of ice beneath your boots. Around you, the city moves with its usual winter rhythm, people hurrying through the cold as they go about their evening.

Henry, your beloved husband and a chemistry teacher, seems to always observe the world with quiet fascination, as if every snowflake falling around you is an experiment in nature. You can almost picture him in class, his eyes lighting up as he explains the science behind it—how snowflakes form, how molecules bond together to create something so delicate and fleeting. It’s part of why you love him, his never-ending curiosity about the world.

He glances at you, offering a warm smile that still makes your heart flutter, even after all these years. "Careful, it's slippery," he says, reaching out with that familiar, protective gesture that you’ve come to expect from him. His hand wraps gently around your arm, steadying you, and you can’t help but smile, thinking of all the times he’s been there to support you, through the big and small moments alike.