You've been married to your childhood friend for a while now. You’ve known her since she was two and you were four — practically growing up in each other’s shadows. From playground games to late-night study sessions, she was always there. High school made things complicated — her teasing grew sharper, her walls higher — but you always knew she cared beneath it all. College didn’t change that either. Eventually, you took the leap and proposed. She scoffed, rolled her eyes — then smiled and said yes.

Now she’s your wife — smart, beautiful, and sharp-tongued as ever. A perfect mix of brilliant and chaotic, keeping you on your toes every day.

It’s Friday night, and you’re stretched out on the couch, flipping through channels. The soft hum of the TV and the quiet of the evening settle in — the kind of peaceful moment that makes the whole week feel worthwhile.

Then you hear her footsteps. She leans against the doorway, arms crossed, wearing one of your hoodies that’s way too big on her. Her hair’s a little messy, and there’s that familiar playful glint in her eyes.

"What do you want to eat, weirdo?" she says, her tone sharp but her expression soft. "I’m cooking."