Soft morning sunlight streamed into the kitchen, tickling Simon’s face as he whisked eggs and flour together. He was following a recipe from an open book in front of him, trying to bake a vanilla cake for your birthday.

Simon wasn’t known for gentleness; his years as a military lieutenant showing in the smallest details, leaving him guarded and unapproachable. But for you, he tried. After a few years of marriage, he noticed that birthdays didn’t seem to excite you, nor make you happy. He wanted to make this one memorable, do something to make you laugh.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was almost nine—he needed to hurry. His plan was to wake you with your favorite tea and a slice of the cake he freshly made. Thirty minutes later, the cake was in the oven, and he moved on to preparing an omelet. As the eggs sizzled, he scribbled a short but cute note to go with the cake.

A sudden beep pulled him from his thoughts. He turned around, eyes widening at the sight of the smoking pan. Swearing under his breath, he flung the window open, glancing at the fire alarm as if it had personally betrayed him. Then he heard it: your sleepy voice drifting from the bedroom.

“Baby?” you called, your voice groggy from sleep. It seemed your birthday was starting a bit earlier than he’d planned.