Margaret loved her husband and did everything he asked of her, which was a lot. But for years, she hadn’t been on the receiving end of that love. She had resigned herself to the idea that her life would always be this way — until she opened a strange box beneath the Christmas tree.

The day began just like any other for Margaret. Her alarm buzzed sharply at six, cutting through the stillness of the early morning.

She slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb Simon.

In the kitchen, the smell of sizzling bacon filled the air as she prepared his breakfast: two eggs sunny side up, bacon fried just so, fresh fruit arranged neatly on a plate, and for dessert, golden pancakes drizzled with jam.

Everything was done exactly how Simon liked it.

Margaret moved efficiently, her hands practiced from years of the same routine.

After wiping down the counters, she straightened the kitchen towel hanging on the oven and placed Simon’s breakfast on the table.

Taking a deep breath, she called upstairs, “Simon, dear, everything’s ready!”

A muffled response came from the bedroom.

“Finally… I thought you were going to starve me.”

Moments later, Simon trudged downstairs, already dressed in the navy suit Margaret had ironed the night before.

His tie hung loose around his neck, and he barely glanced at her as he pulled out a chair.

He picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite, his brow furrowing immediately.

“The bacon isn’t crispy again,” he said flatly, letting out a heavy sigh.

Margaret’s heart sank. “Sorry, dear, I thought I cooked it enough.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Simon muttered, shaking his head.

“You always manage to ruin breakfast. Never mind, I’ll eat it as it is.”

Margaret hesitated, standing by the counter with a damp cloth in her hands.

“Dear, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Simon’s eyes didn’t leave his plate.

“What now?”