I came home late to an orderly living room—cereal boxes filled, the gate reset for tomorrow, the note: ‘All taken care of.’ It’s the quiet moments you weave that build our perfect world.
You don’t just make sacrifices; you inject everyday love into the details. Lacing shoes left unsaid, packing lunches before dawn, finding joy in the little steps. No one else sees it, but it’s all I see. Thank you for the invisible work that makes us feel safe.
As the world sleeps, your presence lingers in the cracks between the ordinary—warm coffee, a slightly open door, the hum of the fridge. This home breathes because of you. Our perfect is your work, and it’s everything.