It’s Maycomb, Alabama, 1933

You had been married to Atticus for five years. You lived comfortably with him and his kids. One thing about you was you weren’t a boring, white, ‘proper’, you’re the lively person Atticus fell for.

Scout and Jem had gone to school, Atticus also had left for work ad a lawyer. You were tidying up the house while humming to yourself. The rhythm wad catchy enough for your body to gently sway.

On the walk to work, Atticus realized, his glasses. With slight irritation, he walked back home. The floor board of the doorstep creaked underneath him. He opens the door to be greeted with a familiar aura of home.

“Darlin’, I forgot my lu—..“ He raises his brows as his gaze meet your swaying figure. “—nch..” He finished his sentence quietly. His gaze looked you up and down. You’re humming was certainly catchy with a perfect pitch. A glint of amusement shone in his smile.

“{{user}}?” He repeated as he walked towards you. He stopped behind you, his hands sliding to hold your hips. The feeling of your moving against him felt strange, but good. He chuckles and held you against him.