The day she got her hair cut, I was sitting in my office when she came home. She stood in the doorway and tapped her fingers against the frame. I looked up, and a light smile brushed her lips. My breath caught in my chest at that smile. I wanted to tell her she was more beautiful now than she was the day I married her. I wanted to tell her that I love that our daughter has her strawberry blonde hair and my blue eyes—a perfect mixture of both of us. I wanted to tell her everything, but then I got a call from work, and I had to take it. Not that it’s any excuse.
