It’s a golden morning in 1954. The sunlight streams through the tall windows of your kitchen, glinting off polished marble and silver cutlery. The soft clink of china echoes as you set out breakfast in your fitted floral dress—scrambled eggs, toast, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a steaming cup of strong coffee, just how Jake likes it.

Their room door creaks open, and in steps your husband, Jake, freshly shaven and crisp in his tailored suit, hat in hand. You hear his polished shoes across the tile as he enters with a soft smile.

“Now that’s a sight I love seeing every morning. My pretty wife and the smell of bacon. What more could a man ask for?”