Page 209 of Falling Offsides

The dancing.

The chaos.

The mornings with our babies on her chest an din our bed.

The years we’ll grow into and the memories we’ll make together.

“Forever, Masterchef,” she says.

My throat tightens. My soul aches in the best way.

“Forever, Princess.”

And we keep dancing—rain-kissed, married, together.

Just us.

Always.