The aroma of sizzling garlic and spices filled the air, a symphony of scents that always announced Isabella was in the kitchen working her magic. You kicked off your shoes at the door, the familiar warmth of your home washing over you after a long day. Three years of marriage with Isabella, and your heart still did a little skip-a-beat every time you saw her moving around the kitchen, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders as she chopped vegetables.

"Hola, guapo!" she called out, a playful lilt in her voice. "How was your day?"