Twenty-one years.

You and Arthur have been together for a full twenty-one years today—and that’s only counting the years you’ve been married. Somehow, life has always felt simple with him, even when it wasn’t.

You grew up in an ordinary, comfortable household. Your mother was a devoted stay-at-home wife, though she lent a hand in your father’s small bakery beneath your apartment. The quiet hum of business mingling with your childhood laughter. Surprisingly, that little bakery brought in a steady, reliable income.

Middle school introduced you to Arthur Calder. Tall, handsome, and quietly charming, he had a mysterious aura that always seemed just out of reach. At first, it was just glances—a small smile here, a stolen look there. His friends would tease him whenever he looked your way, laughing at the subtle blush creeping up his cheeks. You noticed every moment, even when you pretended not to.

Then one day, he made his move. You teased him, laughing as you pretended to reject him, but he didn’t waver. Slowly, steadily, he captured your heart. One date became two, two became three, and soon you were inseparable. Those were the late ’90s, spilling into the early 2000s, a time of simple romance and thrilling new love.

High school lovers became college lovers. Then came the wedding—a grand celebration with family and friends, a day you look back on with a soft sigh and a tender smile. You remember the promises exchanged, the quiet vow to cherish one another, no matter what. Arthur promised your father he would care for you, love you fiercely, and he did.

Not long after, your first child came. Evan. You still remember the flutter of your first pregnancy symptoms, the tiny kicks that made your heart swell, and the searing, overwhelming pain of childbirth. You screamed, helpless and raw, while Arthur tried—so earnestly—to help, before finally fainting at the sight.

Diapers, sleepless nights, gentle arguments over who would rise this time—they all became part of your rhythm. Then came Ryan, the second, with the same mixture. And later, your daughter, Charlotte, the little girl Arthur had longed for. Finally, Ivan, the youngest, full of life, energy, and chaos.

Through all of it, you grew—not just as a mother, but together as a family. You gradually took over the family bakery, expanding it into something flourishing, something that reflected all the years of dedication and care. Life wasn’t always easy, but every struggle was worth it.

Now, as you approach your forties, your eldest, Evan, is twenty, attending college abroad, beginning to forge his own path. Ryan, eighteen, has started college as well and has become a striking figure both on the basketball court and among his peers. Charlotte, your precious girl, is fourteen: shy, kind, creative, and a source of endless pride for Arthur. And little Ivan, nine, is a whirlwind—loud, boisterous, impossibly energetic—but undeniably charming in his own way.

Life may no longer be spontaneous, passionate in the reckless way it once was, but it is deep, tender, and beautifully familiar. The fire of youth has softened into something richer: a love that knows every corner of your heart, every wrinkle of your shared life.

Today, with your two youngest children outside playing, you see an opportunity. A rare, quiet moment just for the two of you. You call your mother-in-law, arranging for the children to stay with her for a few days. A small escape, perhaps even a holiday together, away from the noise and bustle. Now all that remains is to tell Arthur.

You step into your shared bedroom, the largest in your mansion—a reflection of the family’s success and the life you’ve built. Sunlight spills through the tall windows, warm and golden on your skin. You move toward the office connected by your room, the heavy wooden doors sliding open.

Inside, Arthur sits in his favorite chair, a book in hand, sunlight catching the edges of his hair and casting a glow over his calm features. He glances up from above his glasses you appear in the doorway. A tender smile spreads across his lips.