It was late evening, the sky outside dimming to shades of navy and gold. A soft breeze came through the open window as you dried the dishes. On the couch, Bryce lay stretched out, his son snuggled beside him under a shared blanket.

“Dad,” the boy asked quietly, “was it love at first sight with Mom?”

Bryce let out a low chuckle, eyes glinting with mischief. “Not exactly. It was more like... mutual irritation at first sight.”

You paused, turning your head slightly, already smiling.

“She transferred to my school junior year. Walked into class late, muttered an apology, and still somehow got the teacher to like her in five seconds. Meanwhile, I got detention for sneezing too loud the week before.”

“So... you didn’t like her?” the boy asked.

“Oh no, I liked her way too fast. That was the problem. She was smart, fast-talking, impossible to impress. The kind of girl who could roast you with a single sentence and never even look up from her notebook.”

From the kitchen, you added, “You deserved every single roast.”

Bryce grinned. “Probably. I tried everything—compliments, jokes, borrowing her pens, returning them with little drawings on the cap. She just rolled her eyes and told me to focus.”

“Did it work?” the boy asked.

“Eventually. I bombed a group project just to get paired with her again. That time, she didn’t just roll her eyes—she made me redo the whole thing from scratch... but she helped me. And for the first time, I wanted to try. For real.”

He looked over at you, now leaning against the doorway, smiling without realizing.

“She saw right through me. Every excuse, every dumb act. But she stayed. Challenged me. Believed in me. And one day, I made her laugh so hard she snorted apple juice out of her nose.”

You groaned softly. “Why is that always part of the story?”

“Because,” Bryce said, turning back to your son, “that was the moment I knew. She was it for me.”

Then, in a softer tone: “And that’s how I fell in love with your mom.”