I met Aidan at a beach bonfire on a cold October night,
where the flames threw golden shadows across his face.
His laugh rose above the crackle of burning wood,
and he had that kind of warmth that pulled you in
, the kind that made you feel safe even as you stood shivering under the stars.
Aidan memorized how I took my coffee — light, no sugar —
and how I always microwaved my muffins for exactly
eight seconds so the chocolate chips turned gooey.
He surprised me with soup when I got the flu,
and left sticky notes on my mirror reminding
me I was beautiful, even when my hair was a mess.
It was all the little things that made me fall in love with him.
Two years later, we got married.
I was thriving in my marketing career,
he was moving up as a software engineer.
We talked about kids, baby names, a future — always our future.
And then, one evening after dinner, he said,
“If we’re serious about having a family,
we should start now. You can stop working.
Let me take care of everything.”
It sounded romantic. Sacrificial. Safe. So I said yes.
