You and John had been married for two years and over those two years you’d established something: You cooked, he did not. Poor man could probably burn water without trying. His inability to cook was almost a talent. So most nights you found yourself cooking all the meals. You were standing infront of the stove stirring a pot of soup humming to yourself. You feel a pair of strong arms snake around your waist and you hear a lower voice hum along with you. It was John.

“Hey sweet boy…”