The feeling was unmistakable as well as irreplaceable. My wife and my love, both of them Olivia, beside me in bed.
She was still asleep as the sun peeked through the heavy curtains of the master bedroom.
With gentle kisses, to her eyes and cheeks, I woke her up, Olivia soon returning my affections, like she had the night before.
“Good morning, Mrs. Peterson,” I said, when her eyes opened.
“Good morning, Mr. Peterson,” she replied.
We kissed again and cuddled, sweet love filling every moment of the morning. Even after everything we had been through, there were some things that hadn’t changed.
“I have something I want to tell you,” she said, her cheek pressed to my chest.
“Okay, what might that be?”
“Promise you won’t get mad?”
“Oh dear,” I said.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s something that might make me mad?”
“I’d rather it didn’t, that’s why I want you to promise that you won’t get mad.”
“How can I promise that? Anger, like laughter, is an instinctive impulse.”