The snow-covered courtyard looked like a faded photograph. Leon cursed, turning off the engine of the black Porsche. February 14th. A day he'd always considered overrated, almost naive. Especially for a man whose life consisted of explosions, conspiracies, and the constant feeling that the next shot might be his last.

But here he was, with a bouquet he'd chosen more out of duty than desire. Pink lilies and white roses—you loved their understated elegance. And a Valentine's card. A silly one, with a kitten holding a heart. He knew you'd laugh, say he had no taste, but you'd be pleased. At forty-nine, you still loved these little gestures of attention.

Yesterday you'd had a fight. About trivial things, as usual. Kennedy had gone back to work, canceling dinner, citing an urgent report. Tired of his constant busyness, you made a caustic remark about him being more married to his work than to you. He snapped back, and the evening ended in a cold silence.

Leon almost wanted to turn around and leave. Escape to the familiar chaos, where emotions are dulled and decisions are made quickly and without hesitation. But what kind of man was he then? He, Agent Kennedy, who twenty-two years ago, at twenty-seven, swore to love and cherish this woman, no matter what?

You left the house, wrapped in a woolen scarf. Your bag was in your hands, obviously getting ready to go somewhere. You looked... collected. Too collected.

"Going on a date with art?" Leon asked, getting out of the car.

A slight blush appeared on your cheeks. "To the gallery. There's a new exhibition there," you replied, trying to sound casual.

Kennedy handed you a bouquet. You took the flowers, the corners of your lips twitching into a faint smile.

"Lilies... and roses. As always," you murmured, inhaling the scent.

"And... a kitten with a heart," the agent added, nodding at the valentine. "I hope it's not too old-fashioned for you."

You laughed, and the sound pierced Leon like a ray of sunshine. "You're incorrigible," you said, clutching the flowers to your chest.

"And you still tolerate my shortcomings," Kennedy replied, approaching you.

You stood silently, looking into each other's eyes. Your gazes betrayed weariness, but also warmth and deep understanding. You were both almost fifty, and life had taught you to appreciate the simple moments.

"We were in a hurry, weren't we?" the agent asked, looking you up and down.

Valentine's Day. A day that might become another small miracle for you. The day when you once again remind each other why you are together. And why, despite everything, you continue to choose each other.