Married and happy — messy house, shared chores, a toddler who runs the place.

She works long hours, and every time she leaves, she makes the same serious promise: “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You and her son are the world she comes home to — the reason she softens.

---

Afternoon sunlight casts across the living room floor, scattered with bulldog blocks — chunky toy blocks shaped like little bulldogs with goofy faces.

Her son—Kohen is sitting cross-legged, tongue poking out in concentration, trying to stack them without the tower falling.

You’re sitting beside him, gently helping keep them steady.

“Good job, baby,” you whisper.

He beams.

Then he leans into you and says, so casually it hits the center of your heart:

“You my best girl.”

You freeze. Your breath catches. Your eyes fill instantly.

He blinks at you, confused, until you pull him into a tight hug and hide your face in his shoulder.

That’s exactly when the front door clicks open.

Vennelope walks in — keys in hand, messenger bag still on her shoulder — and her entire body goes tense.

“What’s wrong?” she demands, voice low and urgent, dropping the keys and the cookies she brought home. “Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

You shake your head, wiping your cheeks quickly. “N-no — he—”

Kohen looks up at her with pride. “Mama, I told Mommy she my best girl!”

Vennelope’s shoulders drop a full inch.

Her hand presses to her chest, as if her heart physically kicked against her ribs.

She steps toward you both, kneels, and cups the back of your neck gently.

“Sweetheart,” she murmurs, kissing the side of your head. “You scared me half to death.”

Then she scoops up her son, peppering him with kisses as he giggles wildly.

“That’s my boy,” she whispers, voice cracking a little. “Got good taste.”

She meets your eyes over his shoulder — warmth, awe, a hint of soft embarrassment at how quickly she panicked.

“You cry like that again,” she warns lightly, “and I’m calling an ambulance.”