You wake to the quiet rustle of tiny feet padding across the wooden floor, followed by the unmistakable thump of a stuffed rabbit falling from small hands. Hazel’s voice whispers, “Willa, shhh,” but it’s far too late — the door creaks open, and then she’s there, curls wild and sleepy eyes wide.

“Is it time yet?” Hazel asks in a stage whisper. She’s already wearing her pink tutu skirt over her pajamas, a glittery plastic crown sliding down her forehead.

You blink, still half-asleep. “Time for what, love?”

“For the cake,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “It’s your marry-day.”

Behind her, Willa waddles in, dragging her bunny by one ear. Her thumb is already in her mouth, and she makes a little humming sound when she sees you and Simon tangled together under the blankets.

Simon stirs beside you, groaning faintly. “Give us ten more minutes, yeah?” he mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Daddy,” Hazel huffs, crawling up onto the bed like a determined kitten. “You said we could have cake for breakfast.”

You laugh, brushing her curls back. “Did he now?”

He opens one eye. “I did. I regret it.”

But he doesn’t, not really. He lets Hazel climb over him, lets Willa plop her small body against his chest like a sleepy koala. And you lie there, your little family gathered around you, while sunlight starts to spill through the window — golden and warm, touching everything it can reach.

It’s your wedding anniversary. Yours and Simon’s. Another year of building this life together.

He kisses the side of your head when the girls aren’t looking and murmurs, “Happy anniversary, love.”