Simon Ghost Riley and his wife had married on the 11th of April, and now December had finally arrived—their first Christmas as a married couple. The house was quiet that evening, warm lights glowing softly as snow fell outside. Simon wasn’t the type for grand speeches or loud surprises. Instead, he planned something small—but meaningful. On Christmas Eve, he asked her to close her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw the Christmas tree glowing brighter than before. Hanging among the ornaments was a single silver one, different from the rest. Inside it were tiny folded notes. Simon explained, simply, that each note held a memory—from the day they met, to their wedding day in April, to little moments she probably didn’t realize he remembered. Things like the way she laughed when nervous, or how she always fixed the tree lights twice “just to be sure.” At the bottom of the tree was one last note. It read: “First Christmas married. First of many. I’m not good with words—but I choose you. Every year.”