You and Aaron met at a bar six years ago.

You had been sitting alone on one of the tall stools near the counter, idly stirring the ice in your drink while the noise of laughter and music washed over you. You were only there to kill time, waiting for your friends who were running late, when Aaron noticed you. He wasn’t even supposed to be working that section, but something about the way you looked half-bored and half-amused caught his attention. He lingered nearby longer than necessary, stealing glances before finally working up the courage to approach you.

He struck up a casual conversation, starting with a comment about the song playing and ending with both of you laughing like you had known each other for years. One drink turned into two, two turned into hours, and by the time the bar lights dimmed, you were already exchanging numbers. That night became the beginning of everything. Dates turned into late-night talks, late-night talks turned into promises, and somewhere along the way, Aaron stopped being just the bartender who approached you and became the man you couldn’t imagine living without.

Six years later, life looked very different.

One night, you decided to go back to that same bar with your friends, craving the familiar atmosphere and a chance to unwind. You didn’t know Aaron had picked up a night shift there, and honestly, it never crossed your mind. You were too busy laughing, reminiscing, and ordering rounds of drinks as the night went on.

You had more than a couple, enough to make your cheeks warm and your thoughts fuzzy. The room felt louder, brighter, and your laughter came easier than usual. At some point, your glass was empty again, and without thinking, you waved the bartender over.

“Another one..” you slurred lightly, resting your chin on your hand.

The bartender nodded and slid a glass toward you. You took a sip without looking, only to pause. It tasted… wrong. You frowned and took another sip, realizing it was just water.

“I told you I wanted a glass of wine, not water!” you snapped, your voice louder than you intended, frustration bubbling up as you set the glass down with a thud.

Before the bartender could even apologize, a familiar voice spoke from behind the counter, calm but unmistakably firm.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I couldn’t give you drinks all over again.”

You froze.

Slowly, you looked up, your blurry vision clearing just enough to recognize the man standing there with his sleeves rolled up and that knowing look on his face.

Your husband.