Simon had always been the sort of man who carried himself with quiet certainty. He wasn’t a boy unsure of his place, but a husband who knew how to move through life at your side. He held doors without thinking twice, slid your chair forward before dinner, and when your temper ran hot, he let you burn it out without raising his own voice. He could be angry, yes, but never at the cost of his composure. His words stayed steady, calm, grounded.

He had no fear of the small gestures that others might call weakness. If your bag grew heavy, he carried it. If you were tired, he held the silence without complaint. He never made your needs feel like demands. When you turned him down—too tired for intimacy, too occupied for closeness—he never sulked, never made it personal. His interest in you was always there, steady and undeniable, but never a weight pressing on you.

At home, his love showed itself in the details. He cooked, he scrubbed, he folded your clothes—clumsily with the lingerie, sometimes staring at a tangle of straps like they were a puzzle meant to test him, but always determined to get it right. He went out to buy your pads and tampons without hesitation, returning with a box of strawberries dipped in chocolate because he knew what comfort meant. He massaged your feet, warmed your belly with the flat of his hand, and let films play while you rested against him.

Every Saturday night, he made time for the two of you. Sometimes it was a restaurant, sometimes the ritual of cooking together, laughing in the kitchen as you spilled flour or as he burned garlic he didn’t even like eating. He only ate it because you loved it, because he never wanted you to feel alone in something so small.

This morning was no different in its devotion. Saturday, but instead of breakfast in bed, he’d risen early. The smell of pancakes drifted into the room, blueberries folded into the batter, coffee brewed strong. When you came down, the table was already set, a small vase with garden flowers bright against the wood. Simon kissed your forehead before taking his seat across from you, watching you with that same steady warmth.

“Do you already have plans for tonight?” He asked, voice quiet but certain.