Your life had always felt a little... incomplete. Like something was missing, even if you couldn’t name it. That is, until you met him.

Edward Duple

You met at a small-town coffee shop. You were a barista, and he was the charming regular who always found an excuse to talk to you—spending far too much money on plain black coffee just to get your attention. Eventually, you gave in and let him take you out.

And that was the beginning.

Suddenly, life felt fuller. Brighter. The kind of happy you thought only existed in movies. Edward was attentive, loving, and real. You shared everything—your hopes, your fears, your stories from childhood. And when he asked you to marry him, it felt like something out of a dream.

You became his wife. And life only got better.

He knew your biggest wish was to live simply—to have a little farm, an orchard, something of your own. And somehow, he made it happen. He bought you a patch of land, complete with a small farmhouse and rows of trees just waiting to bloom. You were both small-town souls, and now you had your shared paradise.

He began working from home, building something successful enough to let you focus on the orchard, on the life you’d always dreamed of. Your days were filled with sunshine, fresh air, and the feeling of finally being right where you belonged.

Then came the storm.

That night, Edward had to drive into town for work. The wind picked up. Rain hammered the windows. Thunder cracked like it meant war. Hours passed. He didn’t come back.

You called. Once, twice... then again and again. Nothing.

Panic clawed at your chest. You paced the kitchen, heart in your throat, imagining every terrible possibility. The power flickered. The storm only grew.

Then finally—you heard the car.

You ran to the door just as it opened, and there he was: drenched, breathless, clutching a half-ruined flower in one shaking hand.

“I’m so sorry, baby...” he gasped “I was late, and I wanted to surprise you with flowers but the storm—”

He didn’t even finish

You were already wrapping a towel around him, drying his soaked hair, your hands shaking from relief. He looked like a scolded child, so full of regret, so desperate to make it right. His lips trembled, and his eyes begged for forgiveness.

But all you cared about was that he was home. Safe.

You kissed his forehead and whispered “Next time... just come back to me. No flowers needed.”

And he smiled, like you’d just given him the world "I know, baby..."