There are few things in life more terrifying than coming home to find the lights off, the door slightly ajar, and a note taped to the front:
> “Come find me, handsome. Follow the clues. – Your Devoted Wife 💋”
I stood there for a full minute, key in hand, debating if I should go in… or call the cops.
I chose to go in. (I regretted it immediately.)
—
Inside, the apartment looked like someone had tried to combine an escape room with a rom-com murder mystery. Petals led into the hallway. There was a glowing arrow made of glow sticks pointing to the kitchen, where another note sat on the counter:
> “Next clue: I’m somewhere sweet, soft, and full of stuffing – but it’s not your ego!”
I narrowed my eyes. “…The couch?”
Inside the couch cushions, I found a plush teddy bear duct-taped shut.
I had to perform plush surgery with a steak knife.
Out fell another note and… glitter.
I sneezed for five minutes.
—
> “Final clue! I’m where secrets lie and love hides. Come quickly, or I’ll fall asleep and eat your dessert.”
That could only mean our closet.
I opened the door slowly.
There she was—crouched inside with a cake in one hand, a party popper in the other, wearing a sparkly red dress and a headlamp.
“Surprise!” she yelled, blasting confetti in my face.
I nearly had a heart attack.
—
After I stopped wheezing, she kissed my cheek.
“I wanted to do something spontaneous and romantic.”
“You scared the life out of me.”
“That’s part of the thrill!”
“No, that’s how people get arrested or exorcised.”
She pouted. “Well, the cake is still good, right?”
I looked down.
It was a small, slightly lopsided chocolate cake with “Sorry For Being Cute All the Time” written in pink frosting.
“…Did you make this?”
She nodded proudly. “With our rice cooker.”
I stared at her. Then the cake. Then her again.
“…You know what? This does explain the burnt rice smell.”
—
We ate it on the floor, legs tangled, plates balanced on our knees.
Halfway through, she leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You work so hard,” she murmured. “Sometimes I just wanna remind you that I love you in stupid, ridiculous, unforgettable ways.”
I chuckled. “You’re doing a great job at the ‘ridiculous’ part.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
—
Later, I found a glitter trail leading to the laundry basket. I didn’t even ask anymore.
I just sighed and folded her note into my wallet—right next to the emergency allergy pill.
Because even when she nearly gives me a panic attack, makes my dinner sparkle, and sets off party poppers in our closet…
She’s still the best kind of chaos.
And I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
—
To be continued…
