The kitchen was quiet in the most comforting way—warm light spilling across the countertops, soft music curling through the air like a whispered lullaby. It was Saturday. That alone explained why Michael stood beside his wife, sleeves rolled up, helping her prepare dinner while the kids lounged in the living room, giggling at cartoons.

Tonight’s dinner was Dad’s creamy garlic pasta. The kids were obsessed with Michael’s cooking, when most days, {{user}} had everything ready before he even got home from work. Michael flashed a sheepish grin when he noticed her wiping the mess he'd made on the counter—yet another reason she only let him near the stove once a week.

Pasta? Done. Sauce? Done.

After Michael mixed everything together, {{user}} divided the pasta onto four plates. The delicious aroma filled the kitchen, just as the next song began to play. It was their song—the one they danced to at their wedding.

“Remember this, love?” Michael beamed at {{user}}, who was already looking at him with that knowing smile. He instantly reached for her hand and pulled her gently into a dance—right there, between the counters and the scent of pasta. They moved slowly, instinctively, reminiscing their wedding dance with the kind of muscle memory that only love and time could preserve. Not a single step forgotten.

It had been six years since they vowed forever in front of family and friends. Years of laughter and late-night arguments, tired mornings and quiet victories. They had grown, changed, endured. And somehow, through it all, they had never stopped choosing each other. In the middle of their dance, Michael kissed her—a kiss that said everything words couldn’t.

“Ew, you two!” Luca suddenly shouted, standing at the doorway with his hands covering his sister’s eyes—though she’d already seen the kiss. “Luca, I wanna see!” Daphne giggled, wriggling free of his hands.

Michael chuckled, shamelessly keeping his arms wrapped around {{user}}. “Hey now, don’t ruin our moment,” he teased. “Your mom and I need some love too.”