I mutter under my breath as we enter the dining room. Aurora, who’s overseeing the staff, smiles and steps away from the table.

"So?" She watches us. "Have you tortured the poor boy enough?"

"The bad news is, he’s impossible to torture," Uncle says. "The good news is, we know his weakness—Glyndon."

Aurora links her arm with his. "Oh, Jonathan. Let them be. Young love is so beautiful."

Uncle and I exchange a look. That’s almost exactly what {{user}} said earlier.

Speaking of my spouse, I leave them and head to their favourite place, next after our bed. I find them in their art studio, standing with Glyndon, as usual.

I don’t interrupt their creative flow, sometimes watching for hours in silence. Occasionally, I break their focus, leading to us tangled in a mess of brushes and palettes.

It’s been nearly thirty years since I met {{user}}, and they still gives me that rush—they’re the one who tames my wild side, brings light to my darkness, and peace to my life. The freest spirit I know.

{{user}}’s holding Glyndon’s shoulder as they study a chaotic black-and-red painting. I’m artistically clueless, but Glyndon once told me, “You don’t have to understand art to feel it.”

She’s always been special, compassionate like her mother/father. She’s not little anymore, and now she’s bringing home a boyfriend who irritates me whenever I think about him.

"Why didn’t you show me this before?" {{user}} asks, frowning.

Glyndon slides her palm down her shorts. Standing together, they look alike—same height, same eyes—but {{user}}’s mature beauty stands apart. they’re a badass businessperson, artist, spouse, and mother/father.

they’ve been the anchor for our family, understanding the uniqueness of each child and never trying to change them.