— keels '

You set your keys down gently, already knowing he was home because his shoes were kicked off by the couch in a messy heap that you had stopped pretending to fix. The TV was on low, some UFC recap playing to no one in particular, and the lamp in the corner cast a warm, golden glow across the living room.

And that’s when you saw him.

Joe was stretched across the couch, long legs hanging slightly over the armrest because he never quite fit anywhere properly. Your hoodie—your favorite oversized one—was draped over his broad shoulders like a blanket, and somehow he had managed to curl into it despite being, objectively, far too large for that to make any sense.

His face was half buried in the fabric.

Not just resting against it—fully, shamelessly smooshed into it.

His cheek was pressed so hard into the cotton that it puffed around his nose, his lips slightly parted as he breathed slowly, evenly. One of his hands was curled near his chest, fingers loosely gripping the edge of the hoodie like he was afraid it might disappear. The other hand still held his phone, which was tilted dangerously toward the edge of his palm, seconds away from slipping and hitting the floor.

You just stood there for a moment, taking him in and quietly giggling to yourself.

For someone so big—so solid and strong and intimidating on a field—he looked almost childlike. Relaxed. Safe. Completely unaware of the world around him. The hoodie looked small against him, stretched across his shoulders and bunched awkwardly under his chin, but he didn’t seem to care. If anything, he looked more comfortable than he had all week.

You walked closer quietly, your heart doing that soft, aching thing it always did when you caught him like this—unfiltered and unguarded.

“Joe,” you whispered gently.

He didn’t move.

His eyelashes fluttered slightly, but he stayed asleep, face still pressed into your hoodie as if it were the most natural pillow in the world. You crouched beside the couch and carefully slid the phone from his loose grip before gravity could do it for you. The screen lit up briefly, casting a pale glow over his face before you locked it and set it on the coffee table.

As you straightened, he stirred.

His brow furrowed faintly, and he shifted, tightening his hold on your hoodie instinctively. His voice came out rough and sleepy, barely more than a breath.

“Hey… don’t take it.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers lightly through his hair. “I’m not taking it,” you murmured. “It’s all yours.”

His eyes opened just barely, blue and unfocused, blinking up at you like he wasn’t entirely sure you were real yet. “You’re back,” he mumbled, words slow and heavy with sleep.

“I’m back.”

He made a small, satisfied sound and, without hesitation, reached for you. One large hand found your wrist and tugged gently. “C’mere,” he whispered.

You laughed softly. “Joe, theres literally no room”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, already shifting to make space, even though there wasn’t much room to begin with. “Missed you.”

The simplicity of it made your chest tighten.

You eased yourself down beside him, and immediately he curled toward you, still clutching the hoodie between you like it was something precious. His face found its way back into the fabric—this time pressed between your shoulder and the cotton—and he let out a deep, content exhale.

“You’re gonna suffocate yourself,” you teased quietly.

He huffed, eyes closing again, and just shrugs.

You shook your head, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you let him settle, let his weight lean into you fully. Within seconds, his breathing evened out again, steady and calm, his grip on you and the hoodie both firm and protective.

Trials were everything you’d worked for your whole life growing up hanging from low bars in your hometown gym with crooked hangbags that smelled like dust and melted rubber. Trials were every 4 years but every single year in between consisted of pressure and injuries and fear and unsustainable discipline that could make or break your career. One miss, one misstep, one slip could end it all before you even began.

He knew all of that. He listened to it in your voice the late nights when you lied and told him you weren’t afraid. When you made jokes about how beam was “literally just a four inch wide piece of wood” but both of you knew it scared you more than any football field ever could.

He told you he couldn’t be there. OTAs. Meetings. Deadlines. He always sounded both annoyed and accepting when football needed everything from him again. You told him you understood, and you really did, but when you hung up you kicked your legs up against the headboard and pictured searching the crowd until you couldn’t find him and landed your biggest skill and having no one who really knew you watch you do it in person.

You shoved that thought aside. You couldn’t afford to think about things that probably wouldn’t even happen right before the biggest meet of your life.

The arena was louder than you expected. Flags hung above, cameras followed every move, and the crowd’s excitement made your skin tingle. You sat on the floor stretching with your headphones on, staring at the beam, trying to memorize every part of it. Your coach spoke next to you, but her voice faded into the background, lost in your heartbeat and the noise in your mind.

You checked your phone one last time before lineup, your hands shaking slightly as you opened his message from earlier.

Go be great. I’ll be watching. Always.

You smiled, slipped your phone away, and stood up.

You didn’t notice him when you walked out for introductions. When the announcer said your name and the crowd cheered. When you saluted the judges and stepped onto the beam. You were too focused on not letting your knees lock, on keeping your breathing steady. Pretending this was just another practice.

It wasn’t until you mounted the beam and let your eyes flick up for a split second that you saw him.

He was sitting a few rows up from the floor, his baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses on, trying and failing to blend in with the gymnastics parents and fans in patriotic shirts. You recognized him instantly—the way he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, the way his jaw tightened when he was nervous, the posture you had memorized from watching him on the sidelines of his own games.

Your breath hitched, it felt like your heart was in your ass, you almost lost your balance.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

For a moment, the world tilted, your vision blurred, and you thought you might step off before you even started, but then he looked up and met your eyes and gave you that small nod he always gave you before kickoff, that silent you’ve got this that grounded you more than any breathing technique ever could.

He was here. He chose to be here.

You lifted your arms and started your routine.

Everything else faded. The skills came out of muscle memory—back handspring, layout step-out, switch leap, side aerial—your body moving through the air the way it had thousands of times in practice, but this time it felt different, like the air itself was holding you up. You felt fear, adrenaline, pride, and something close to peace all at once.

You stuck your dismount.

The applause hit you like a wave, but you barely heard it. Your coach hugged you, your teammates screamed, and your hands trembled as you saluted, but all you could think about was him. You searched the stands again and saw him standing, clapping, smiling in that quiet, almost shy way he had when he was genuinely proud of you.

You felt like your chest might burst.

You found him later in a quiet hallway away from cameras and athletes, tucked near a loading dock where the noise was muted. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking too calm for someone who had just shown up unannounced at the biggest meet of your life.

“You lied,” you said, walking up to him with a half-laugh, half-accusation, your adrenaline still buzzing through you.

He smiled like he’d been waiting for that. “I didn’t lie, I just… strategically withheld information, which I’m pretty sure is allowed in relationships when the end result is a surprise that doesn’t involve a birthday cake.”

“I thought you had OTAs,” you said, still stunned, still trying to make sure he was actually real and not a stress-induced hallucination.

“I did,” he replied, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, “but I told them I had a family thing, and before you correct me, I’ve already decided that you absolutely qualify as a family thing, so don’t argue with me on that.”

You laughed, but your throat tightened. “You flew all this way just for this weekend?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were serious. “Yeah, because you’ve been chasing this since you were a kid, and football can survive one weekend without me, but Olympic Trials only happen every four years, and I wasn’t missing you walking out there and doing what you’ve worked your entire life for.”

You stared at him, taking in the exhaustion on his face, the faint travel lines under his eyes, the sincerity that never felt rehearsed, and suddenly you felt more overwhelmed than you had on the beam.

“You have no idea how much I wanted you here,” you said quietly, your voice cracking despite your best effort to keep it steady.

He reached for your hands, chalk dust still clinging to your palms, and held them like they were something fragile and important. “And you have no idea how much I wanted to be here, because I’m tired of watching your life through a screen and pretending that’s enough when it’s not.”

He lifted your chin gently so you had to look at him. “I see you, not just the medals and the routines and the interviews, but you, the person who texts me at 2 a.m. about beam drills and sends me videos asking if a landing looked crooked, and you were incredible out there, like genuinely incredible.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re not supposed to make me emotional before vault, that’s like rule number one of elite gymnastics relationships.”

He laughed softly. “I didn’t get that memo, and honestly, I think you’re better when you’re emotional, because you’re terrifyingly good when you care this much.”

You stayed there for a while, hidden from the chaos, two people who lived under constant pressure, finally in a quiet corner of the world.

“Parallel tracks,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “But I guess sometimes they intersect, and sometimes they’re actually running toward the same finish line.”

“Hello?” you called, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter.

A muffled sob broke the silence, followed by the low rumble of Joe’s voice, steady but strained. Your heart sank as you moved toward the living room, where the sounds were coming from.

There, sitting on the couch, was Ava, her tiny frame trembling as she hugged her knees to her chest. Her face was red and tear-streaked, and her favorite stuffed bunny dangled from one hand. Joe was crouched in front of her, his elbows resting on his knees as he tried to meet her eyes.

“Ava, sweetie,” he said softly, though his voice carried an undercurrent of frustration. “I’m not mad at you. But you have to tell me what happened. I can’t help if I don’t know.”

She shook her head vigorously, burying her face deeper into her knees. “No! You’re mad! You yelled at me!” she cried, her voice muffled.

Joe let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not yelling now, am I? Come on, Ava, talk to Daddy.” His voice softened on the word “Daddy,” but it was clear he was at the end of his patience.

You stepped into the room, both their heads turning toward you. Ava’s sobs quieted slightly at the sight of you, and she scrambled off the couch, running straight into your arms.

“Mommy!” she wailed, clinging to you as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Daddy’s mad at me!”

Joe stood, exhaling sharply. “I’m not mad,” he said, his tone defensive. “I just… she knocked over the lamp in my office, okay? It’s broken. I told her not to play in there, and she did it anyway.”

You glanced at Joe, his tense posture and furrowed brow telling you how much he was trying to keep his frustration in check. Then you looked down at Ava, her small hands clutching your shirt as if letting go would send her adrift.

“Ava,” you said gently, crouching to her level. “Is that true? Were you playing in Daddy’s office?”

She sniffled, nodding reluctantly. “I was looking for paper,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I wanted to draw a picture for Daddy. But the lamp fell… and it broke… and then he yelled.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she buried her face in your shoulder.

Joe’s shoulders sagged, the tension bleeding out of him as her words sank in. He rubbed a hand over his face, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to scare you, Ava,” he said softly. “But you know you’re not supposed to go in there. It’s not safe for you to play around all that stuff.”

Ava peeked out from the safety of your embrace, her bottom lip trembling. “I just wanted to make you happy,” she said, holding up the crumpled piece of paper in her hand. “I was going to draw you with your football. But then the lamp fell and… and…” She dissolved into hiccupping sobs.

You glanced at Joe, who now looked thoroughly defeated. He crouched down again, his large hands resting on his knees as he met Ava’s tearful gaze.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice soft and steady. “I’m sorry I scared you, okay? I shouldn’t have yelled. .” He reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “But next time, can you ask me before you go in my office? We can find paper together. Deal?”

Ava hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Deal,” she whispered, her small voice cracking.

Joe smiled faintly, opening his arms. “Come here, kiddo.”

Ava hesitated for a moment before launching herself into his arms, clutching him tightly. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s okay. Accidents happen. We’ll clean it up together, okay?”

She nodded against him, her small body relaxing as his arms wrapped securely around her. You watched them, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the lingering tension.

Family wasn’t perfect, you thought, but moments like this—when love overcame frustration, when apologies mended rifts—proved it was worth every challenge. And as you stood there, the three of you together, the house finally felt like home again.

As Joe rose, Ava still clinging to him, he looked over at you with a sheepish smile. “Sorry you had to walk into the middle of that,” he said, his tone light but apologetic. “Parenting… not as smooth as I imagined it would be.”

You chuckled softly, crossing the room to place a reassuring hand on his arm. “Nobody said it would be easy, Joe. But you handled it well. She knows you love her, and that’s what matters.”

Ava, her tears now dried, looked up at Joe with wide eyes. “Daddy, can I still draw you the picture?” she asked hesitantly, her fingers twisting the hem of his shirt.

Joe’s face softened, and he nodded. “Of course, you can. Let’s go grab some paper from the kitchen, and you can draw it while I start cleaning up the office. Deal?”

“Deal!” Ava said, her earlier sadness replaced by a tentative smile.

The three of you moved into the kitchen, where Ava set to work at the table with her crayons and paper. Joe grabbed a broom and a dustpan, pausing for a moment to place a hand on your shoulder as he passed by. “Thanks for being the calm one,” he said, his voice warm with gratitude.

“Anytime,” you replied with a smile.

As Joe disappeared down the hallway, you watched Ava scribbling happily, her tongue poking out in concentration. The house, which had felt so tense just moments ago, was now filled with a sense of peace and togetherness. It was a reminder that even in the hardest moments, love and patience could rebuild what felt broken.

When Joe returned, the office cleaned up, Ava proudly held up her drawing. “Look, Daddy! It’s you and me playing football!”

Joe crouched down to take the picture, studying it with a broad smile. “This is amazing, Ava. I’m going to hang it up in my office, okay? Right where the lamp used to be.”

Ava beamed, her earlier tears long forgotten. “Really? You’ll put it in your office?”

“Absolutely,” Joe said, pulling her into another hug. “It’s better than any lamp.”

New Year's Eve in the Burrow household was nothing like the glitz and glam of red carpets or flashy celebrations. No, tonight was about something entirely different—a low-key, laugh-out-loud evening spent with Joe Burrow, where the only competition was between who could make the other laugh hardest.

It had been a long year for Joe—full of victories, hard work, and the intensity of a football season that demanded everything from him. But now, here he was, relaxing in the living room, wearing an old college t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, as comfortable as you’d ever seen him. The lights in the house were dimmed, save for the soft glow of string lights and the flickering of a TV in the corner where the countdown show was already running.

The clock was ticking toward midnight, but for the moment, Joe was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the coffee table, a stack of board games in front of him. The pile ranged from classic Monopoly to something a little less conventional—a trivia game that you had picked up on a whim.

Joe flashed you a mischievous grin as he picked up a card from the trivia game. “Alright,” he said, holding the card between two fingers, “this one’s easy. What’s the capital of Australia?”

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing a trap. “Canberra,” you said, smiling confidently.

Joe shook his head dramatically, as if you’d just made the biggest mistake of your life. “Wrong!” he said, holding the card up. “It’s Sydney!”

You leaned forward, crossing your arms. “Joe, are you serious? Everyone knows it’s Canberra.”

He just winked at you. “Okay, okay. You’re right. But I had to test you.”

You laughed, throwing a pillow at him. “I’m pretty sure the trivia game isn’t supposed to be about tricking your opponent.”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he replied, giving you a playful nudge. “The best games are the ones that have the most twists.”

As you both laughed, the excitement in the room started to build. The countdown show had begun in earnest, and the anticipation was growing. You kept your eyes on the screen, where the cameras were showing people all over the world celebrating, the energy contagious even from the comfort of your couch.

Joe, still trying to act like he wasn’t keeping track of the time, grabbed another card from the trivia game. “Okay, one more. This one’s a good one. Who’s considered the father of modern physics?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Einstein. Easy.”

Joe held the card up to his face and squinted at it. “Hmm, I don’t know. Are you sure?”

You shot him a look. “Joe, I’m very sure.”

He smirked. “Okay, I’m just messing with you. You’re right. But now I’ve learned something important.”

“What’s that?” you asked.

“That you’re unbeatable,” he said, leaning back with a satisfied look. “And now I’m gonna have to find a way to win at something tonight.”

You chuckled, enjoying the easygoing nature of the night. It wasn’t about the trivia game or the board games—it was about the moments, the playful teasing, the way time seemed to slow down when you were with him. The fire crackled in the background, sending a gentle warmth through the room as you both gathered around for the final stretch of the evening.

With the clock ticking closer to midnight, you both took a break from the games and leaned back on the couch, your feet tangled under a blanket. Joe reached for the bottle of champagne sitting on the coffee table, popping the cork with a flourish.

“You ready for this?” he asked, holding the bottle out toward you.

“Definitely,” you replied with a grin. “It’s a Burrow tradition, right?”

He nodded. “Exactly. A tradition of fun, friends, and good times.”

The bubbles fizzed as he poured two glasses, the sound of the champagne flowing adding to the atmosphere of the night. The TV countdown flashed 10... 9... 8..., and Joe turned toward you with a mischievous smile.

“Alright,” he said, raising his glass. “Before the clock strikes midnight, I’ve got one more challenge for you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Another trivia question?”

Joe shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “Nope. A challenge of the heart.”

You were curious now. “A challenge of the heart?”

He took a sip of his champagne and leaned closer, his voice low and teasing. “I want you to make a New Year’s wish. Something real, something you really want for this year. But no wishing for the obvious. No wishing for world peace or to win the lottery. I’m talking about something personal. Something just for you.”

You met his gaze, a bit surprised by the depth of his request. It was rare for Joe to get serious, but when he did, it always carried weight. He was always thinking about the future, but in this moment, he was asking you to think about something even more important: what you truly wanted for the coming year.

You thought for a moment, then smiled and lifted your glass to his. “Alright. My wish is for more moments like this. More laughter, more silly games, and more quiet nights with the people I care about. Because this... this is what makes life good.”

Joe smiled back, his eyes warm and filled with affection. “That’s a good one,” he said softly. “I’ll drink to that.”

As the clock hit 3... 2... 1, you both shouted, “Happy New Year!” in unison, clinking your glasses together just as fireworks lit up the sky outside. The celebration was happening all around you, but in this quiet little corner of the world, it was just you and Joe, laughing together and making memories.

The fireworks outside reflected off the windows, casting colorful light across the room. Joe looked at you, his face lit up with that easy smile you loved. “Okay, now we’ve got a whole year ahead of us. What’s next?”

You nudged him, playfully. “I think we still have some board games to finish. But you better bring your A-game. I’m not going easy on you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I think we both know I’m going to crush you in Monopoly.”

“Oh, no chance,” you said, sitting up a little straighter. “You’ve been warned.”

The playful banter continued long into the night, with the two of you casually debating the best way to play the games, each of you trying to find new ways to outwit the other. As the hours passed and the New Year’s festivities continued outside, you both kept the vibe light and fun, basking in the comfort of being together.

Eventually, as the first hours of the new year slipped away, you both collapsed onto the couch, tired but content, your hearts full of the kind of warmth that only comes from spending a night with someone who knows exactly how to make every moment feel like magic.

It was early Saturday morning, and the Burrow household was still quiet, except for the soft rustling of sheets and the faint sound of Ava’s voice as she whispered to Hudson. They were sitting cross-legged on the floor in their playroom, surrounded by a pile of colorful construction paper, markers, and glitter pens.

“Shh, we have to keep it a secret,” Ava whispered, glancing over her shoulder toward the kitchen where Joe was making breakfast. “We’re going to surprise Mom for Mother’s Day.”

Hudson’s eyes were wide with excitement as he held up a glittery card he was working on. “Look, Ava! I made a sparkly heart. She’ll love it!”

Ava nodded, giving her little brother an approving look. “Perfect! Now, we just need to figure out what else we can do.”

Down the hallway, Joe was flipping pancakes in the kitchen, trying not to make too much noise. He was in on the secret—he always was—but he was happy to let the kids take the lead when it came to planning surprises.

“Alright, team,” Joe called out as he placed a stack of pancakes on the kitchen table. “How are we doing on the Mother’s Day gift?”

Ava and Hudson scampered into the kitchen, their faces full of mischief. “We’re almost done, Daddy!” Ava said. “We’re going to make her a card, and then we’ll pick something special from the store.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “A card? I thought we were buying a gift from the store.”

Ava and Hudson exchanged a quick glance before Hudson bounced up and down, “We’ll get a gift too! But we want to make her something from the heart.”

Joe smiled. “I love that idea. Let’s make it a good one, then.” He poured some juice into cups and passed them to the kids, who took their seats at the table.

After breakfast, Joe loaded the kids into the car, and they headed to a local boutique that you loved to visit. It was a small, cozy store filled with beautiful, handmade jewelry, candles, and unique home décor. As soon as they walked in, Ava’s eyes sparkled.

“Ooh! Look at all this stuff!” she exclaimed.

Hudson ran ahead and stopped in front of a small stand covered with delicate, colorful candles. “Mama loves candles!” he said, picking up a lavender-scented one. “We should get this one!”

Joe nodded. “Lavender is her favorite scent. Good choice, Hudson.”

But as Ava wandered further into the shop, she found something even better—a small potted plant with soft green leaves and delicate pink flowers. She carefully picked it up and brought it to Joe.

“Look, Dad! I think Mommy would love this. It’s like a little piece of nature that she can keep inside.”

Joe’s heart warmed at the sight of his daughter holding the plant. “That’s beautiful, Ava. It’s perfect.”

They added the plant to their collection, but Ava wasn’t done yet. “We need something that says ‘I love you, Mom,’” she said thoughtfully, scanning the shelves.

After a moment, Hudson tugged on Joe’s hand and led him to a display of hand-painted wooden signs. One in particular caught his eye: it was a sign with the words “Home is Where Mom Is” painted in soft, welcoming letters.

“That’s it,” Joe said, smiling. “Mama always says that doesn't she. Home is where we’re all together, and she makes this house feel like a home.”

The family headed to the counter with their carefully chosen gifts: the lavender candle, the potted plant, and the wooden sign. The kids helped Joe wrap everything in colorful paper, adding extra touches of glitter and ribbon to make it extra special. Joe could tell they were bursting with excitement as they finished.

When they got home, the kids were eager to put their plan into action. They hid the gifts in the living room, and then they sat down at the kitchen table to write their final touch—a heartfelt card. Ava carefully wrote out the words she wanted to say, and Hudson, with a little help from Joe, scribbled his love with a crayon.

As the sun began to set, You walked in through the front door, tired but happy after a busy day at work you hated that you couldn't spend the day with your babies. Your eyes immediately lit up when she saw the three of them sitting there, grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s all this?” you asked, smiling.

Ava jumped up, holding out the sparkly card she had made. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy! We love you so much!”

Hudson added, “I made you a card too, Mommy!” and handed you the drawing he had worked on.

you knelt down and hugged them both tightly. “Thank you, my sweethearts,” she said, your voice filled with emotion. Then, Joe led you over to the coffee table, where the wrapped gifts awaited.

your eyes widened as you unwrapped the lavender candle, the potted plant, and the wooden sign. You placed the plant on the kitchen counter, the candle on the mantle, and held the wooden sign close to her chest. “This is perfect, you guys. I love everything!”

Joe kissed you on the cheek and smiled. “It’s all from the heart. You make this family complete, mama. We’re so lucky to have you.”

The kids hugged you once more. “We love you, Mommy,” Ava said.

“We love you lots!” Hudson added, giggling.

As you all gathered around the table to enjoy a homemade dinner, the Burrow family shared more laughter, love, and memories—proof that sometimes the best gifts don’t come from the store but from the heart.

After dinner, the room was filled with smiles, hugs, and the soft hum of contentment. But there was still one more surprise in store.

As the family settled into the living room with mugs of hot cocoa, Hudson crawled onto your lap, his small hands holding something behind his back. He had been so proud of his creation earlier in the day—his secret project—and now was the perfect time to reveal it.

“What’s this, bubba?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as Hudson's eyes sparkled mischievously.

With a grin that stretched from ear to ear, Hudson pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper. It was his Mother’s Day gift—a hand-drawn picture of you and him, with hearts surrounding and the words "Best Mommy Ever" written in bright, colorful letters. Though it was a bit rough around the edges, the love in the drawing was undeniable.

you gasped in delight and held it up to the light. “Oh, bubba, this is beautiful! You made this for me?”

Hudson nodded vigorously. “I did it all by myself, Mommy! Just for you!”

“Thank you, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. you placed the drawing next to the other gifts on the mantle, already a cherished keepsake.

Joe watched the whole exchange, his heart swelling. “Looks like you’ve got two artists in the making,” he said with a wink.

You smiled warmly at Joe. “I'm the luckiest mommy ever. Thank you so much my babies.” She placed a hand on Hudson’s head, then turned to Ava and Joe. “You all make every day feel like a celebration.”

As everybody settled into their evening, the soft glow of the lavender candle filled the room with a peaceful fragrance. The small plant sat in the corner, a symbol of growth and life in their home. And the wooden sign, “Home is Where Mom Is,” stood proudly on the mantle, a reminder that, no matter where life took your little family, you had everything you needed right here—with each other.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by laughter and love, Joe knew that the perfect gift wasn’t anything they had bought or wrapped up. It was this—being together, creating memories, and showing how deeply they cared.

The sun was setting over Cincinnati, casting a golden glow over the city as you and Joe strolled into the sleek, modern furniture store. Your new house—a beautiful, airy place with high ceilings and expansive windows—was nearly finished, but there was one problem: it was still completely empty. Except for a couch. Joe insisted on getting a big sectional sofa first, because, as he put it, “It’s gotta be comfortable for game days, right?”

“Alright,” You said, glancing at him as we walked through the sliding doors. “We’re on a mission. We need to make this place feel like a home, not a hotel lobby.”

Joe flashed a grin. “A hotel lobby would have a good minibar, though.”

“Focus, Joe,” you say laughing. “This is a house, not a suite.”

“I know, I know,” he teased, rubbing his chin. “But we should get a minibar. Just sayin’.”

Joe and you moved through the store, you found myself getting distracted by all the little details—vases, lamps, wall art. Meanwhile, Joe was making very serious decisions about the most random things. “What about this lamp?” he asked, holding up a funky, geometric piece that looked more like modern art than an actual light source.

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? That looks like something you’d find in a sci-fi movie.”

He chuckled. “Exactly. It’s perfect.”

After much back-and-forth on the lamp situation (which ultimately ended in you picking something a little more traditional), then you and Joe ventured to the kitchen section. Joe’s face lit up as you looked at the wine glasses.

“We need a good set of these,” he said. “For...you know...celebrating stuff.”

“You mean, for after you win the next Super Bowl?” you teased.

“Exactly,” Joe grinned, pulling out a set of crystal glasses. “We’ll toast to that moment when it happens.”

Joe paused for a second, imagining it: Joe hoisting the Vince Lombardi Trophy above his head, Cincinnati going wild. It was a beautiful thought.

The shopping trip was a mix of seriousness and silliness—Joe testing out every recliner in the store, making you laugh by acting like he was auditioning for a role in a commercial. And you obsessing over the smallest things, like picking out the perfect throw pillows for the couch. It wasn’t just about the house; it was about making memories, finding y'alls rhythm in this new chapter.

By the time you were ready to check out, the cart was filled with everything you both needed—and some things you probably didn’t. You give Joe a pointed look as he placed a neon green throw blanket on top of the pile.

“Are you sure about that?” you asked skeptically.

Joe shrugged, that confident, carefree smile of his lighting up his face. “Look, every home needs a little bit of chaos.”