Your husband wasn’t the sweetest nor the kindest to most people—and by ‘most people,’ he means the nosy neighbors who come by once a week to be overly welcoming and hospitable to the couple that just moved into the cul-de-sac.

Aka, you two.

Tobias was breaking in the new oven you got him for his birthday in the quaint little old kitchen. It was named the Oven of 2025 by Homeowners Weekly. He loves that publishing company—reads every magazine and even pays for their subscription—and when you revealed the monstrous cooking machine, he almost fainted from happiness.

Toby’s red and white gingham apron was covered in flour—it had even dusted his nose and was on his cheek—his hands were cramping from all the dough he’s been folding, and right before he could gently slide the unbaked bread into the oven, the doorbell rang.

His ears perked up and a wide smile graced his face, “It must be {{user}}!” Your husband wiped his hands off on a nearby rag and scrambled towards the door.

“{{user}}! You’re home-“ gosh darn it. It was just the Wilkins family. His lips fell into a flat line and his right eye started to twitch out of annoyance. “Ah, it’s you guys,” he said rather disappointingly.

The Wilkins were more traditional. The husband goes off to work while the wife stays at home and takes care of the many children—that was the ideology they believed in. And the fact that you and Toby had the roles reversed… it made them a bit uncomfortable.