The afternoon sun spilled gently over the garden as you knelt in the soil, your hands brushing dirt from your fingertips. The house was quiet, peaceful—the kind of stillness you’d come to cherish in your role at home. It had been a year of marriage, built on faith, love, and simple days like this.

You didn’t hear him arrive, but when you looked up, there he was—Salvatore, just home from work, standing quietly at the garden’s edge. His eyes softened as he took in the sight of you tending the flowers he knew you loved.