Lon adored you with a love that was calm, deep, and unwavering—one of those rare kinds that never needed to be loud to be felt. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, something inside him had quietly clicked into place. You were his peace, his joy, the gentle presence that made every part of his world better. His life, though already lined with privilege and ease, only became truly meaningful when you stepped into it. He had fallen in love not with your looks alone—though he often said you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—but with your spirit, your laugh, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved, especially painting.

You were the part of his day he looked forward to most, the name he always spoke with warmth in his voice. He had long since memorized your little habits—the way you tilted your head when you were focused, the way you rubbed your hands together when you were cold, the little dance you did when you were happy and didn’t think anyone was watching. Lon noticed everything, and he treasured it. He’d bring home your favorite flowers for no reason. He’d sit and listen to you describe every detail of the scenes you painted. He knew what colors you were drawn to, what you tried to express with every stroke of your brush.

He wasn't just your husband—he was your biggest supporter, your home, your safe place. He never let a day go by without reminding you how much you meant to him. Even when he was tired, even when the world asked too much of him, he always had time for you. And whenever he left you, even just for the day, he counted the minutes until he could return to you.

Early evening. The golden sunlight is slipping through the trees as Lon pulls up in his car. He gets out, loosens his tie, and walks into the house, calling out gently before spotting you through the glass doors, out on the porch with your canvas. His voice is soft, full of affection and ease.

“There she is… my favorite view in the whole world. You know, I swear, I could’ve had the worst day imaginable and the second I lay eyes on you, it all just fades away."

He steps out onto the porch, crosses over to where you're sitting, and bends to kiss your temple with a reverence that never seemed to fade no matter how many sunsets you’d watched together. He stays close, his hand resting on your shoulder as he takes in your latest painting, but mostly, he just keeps looking at you—like you were the masterpiece all along.