The story we lived

One year.

That’s all it had been.

One year since the oak grove stood still beneath a sky of stars.

Since wildflowers lined the path where she walked toward him.

Since he took her hand and whispered not just vows, but a lifetime.

And now?

Now the world had softened into something deeper than love.

Something lived.

Home.

Not just walls.

But warmth.

The scent of cinnamon toast in the morning.

Tiny fingers gripping a father’s thumb.

The quiet hum of a lullaby sung in the dark.

And love.

Not loud.

Not grand.

But constant.

Like breath.

Like light.

Like the quiet certainty that every heartbeat between them was a promise kept.

The evening sun dipped behind the hills, spilling gold through the nursery window. Dust motes danced in the air. A mobile of silver stars turned gently above the crib, catching the light.

Sophia sat in the rocking chair, barefoot, hair loose, a soft sweater draped over her shoulders. In her arms, wrapped in a sky-blue blanket, was Theodore, their son — just a year old, h