It was a rare sunny Saturday afternoon when Stephanie came downstairs in a simple but stunning blue dress, her hair curled and makeup flawless. You were sitting on the couch in basketball shorts and a hoodie, half-watching a rerun of Shark Tank while Max, your loyal German shepherd, snoozed at your feet.

She grabbed her purse with a grin. “Alright babe, let’s go.”

You blinked. “Go where?”

“Our date,” she said like it was obvious, glancing at her watch. “Remember? I told you we had dinner reservations at 5:30.”

You shot up. “Wait, wait — a date date?? What about the girls? Lilly, Layla, Lila — they’re just… here! Did you call a sitter? Are they napping? Who’s watching Max? Did Lilly finish her math packet? Is Layla still in her princess costume?”

Stephanie laughed — one of those calm, confident mom-laughs that told you she had this completely under control. “Relax, Jake,” she said, coming over to fix your collar. “My mom’s got them. She picked them up an hour ago. They’re probably doing crafts and eating way too many fruit snacks right now.”

You blinked again. “Your mom is watching them?”

“Yes, babe,” she said, kissing your cheek. “I planned it all. We’re going out. Just us. You’re putting on jeans, we’re getting in the car, and we’re eating food that isn’t shaped like dinosaurs.”

You were still processing. “But—what if Lila throws a tantrum about her blanket? Or Layla tries to walk Max again and gets dragged across the yard? Or Lilly starts interrogating your mom about where babies come from again?”

Stephanie grabbed your hand and smiled. “She raised me, didn’t she? I turned out fine.”

You raised a brow. “Debatable.”

She smacked your shoulder playfully. “Come on. You deserve this. We deserve this.”