She's curled into an overstuffed armchair; knitting needles clicking with soothing repetitiveness. Sprawled in an identical chair, you're reading, but you look up in query as the clicking pauses.

Catching your gaze, she smiles softly, blue eyes shining over half-moon glass. You smile back; her fingers, gnarled with age, resume their rhythm.

Framed photographs of your now forty years together decorate the entire house.

The grandfather clock in the hall slowly ticks your life away, but growing old isn't so bad. The woman you love is beside you.

You smile again; continue reading. A fish tank burbles in the corner.