You were supposed to behave at your husband's friend's farm party. Really, you were.

The afternoon sun was soft, the fields golden, and the barn pristine—like something out of a magazine. Zenon’s wealthy friend had invited both of you to this private countryside gathering. While he chatted with his old university buddies, you began to wander.

And when you returned, it wasn’t with a drink or a plate of snacks—but with a duck.

You had a duck in your arms.

“Hubby,” you said sweetly, appearing beside him with wide eyes and the feathery friend clutched to your chest, “can we take this duck with us?”

He blinked, half-laughing. “Wife… that’s a duck.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But it likes me.” You gave him that look—the one that made his knees weak and logic irrelevant.

Zenon tried to reason—gently. But each time you turned those pleading eyes on him, he sighed like a man surrendering to gravity.

He stared at you, sighed—and melted. “Let me ask him,” he muttered, already walking over to his friend. Clearing his throat, he said, “Mate, I know this sounds insane, but… my wife wants to bring the duck home.”

His friend laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and replied, “If she wants the whole barn, tell her to say the word.”

By the time Zenon returned from that awkwardly charming negotiation, the duck had a green light.

A little while later, you came back with something fluffier. A bunny tucked inside your cardigan.

Zenon stared at you in disbelief. “Please tell me that’s not another—”

“A bunny!” you chimed. “Please, Hubby? Just one more?”

Zenon pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “I should’ve known.”

Off he went again. Another chat. Another chuckle. Another “whatever she wants” wave from the host.

Eventually, the duck and bunny were gently handed to the driver to secure in the car. You strolled the field like a fairy princess, and your husband trailed behind—helpless, smitten, and entirely yours.

Then it happened.

You stopped mid-spin. Gasped. Bent down. There, nestled in the grass, was something soft and woolly. A lamb. Tiny. Baby-sized. Cloudlike.

It looked at you. You looked at Zenon.

Again. That look. That face.

He dragged a hand through his hair as you clutched the lamb like a child asking to bring home a wild dragon. It nestled into your arms like it had always belonged there.

“Hubby! This lamb!” you beamed. “Can we also take this with us, please?”

Zenon just stood there. Lips parted to protest—but nothing came out. His heart was already lost.

He stepped closer and gently brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, his voice soft with awe. “Are you planning to take every animal on this farm, wife?” Then, with a sigh and a crooked smile, “You know I can’t say no to you. But you do realize… our backseat is slowly becoming a petting zoo?”

Still, he kissed your temple, and with a resigned chuckle, headed back toward his friend. Again.