After we got married, Eliza and I moved back into the old family home. She insisted on baking a batch of cookies for me, and before long, the kitchen was filled with the sweet, rich aroma of butter and vanilla. When Eliza finally stepped out of the kitchen, a smudge of flour still clung to her sleeve. Seeing me curled up on the couch, half-asleep, she leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead and gently pulled the throw blanket over my shoulders. I blinked up at her, my vision adjusting to the light. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her, framing her silhouette in a warm, golden halo. Even the usually cool, guarded look in her eyes had softened into pure affection. On a whim, I slipped off the couch barefoot and walked over to the bookshelf. Crouching down, I pulled out a dusty metal tin box stuffed to the brim with forgotten treasures. It held nothing of actual monetary value; just a handful of lopsided paper cranes I'd folded as a kid, a colle
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