We didn’t build this life with fireworks.
We built it with ash. With routine. With exhaustion and grace stitched into the seams of ordinary days.
Two years ago, we stood shoulder to shoulder, said “yes” to a future we couldn’t see.
Now I see it.
Not perfect. But ours.
Messy. Loud. Sacred.
I see it in the small shoes kicked off at the door like war trophies.
I see it in the bedtime chaos, the giggles that echo through drywall like psalms.
I see it in your eyes at 03:47 AM—bare-faced, burnt out, beautiful.
Not because of makeup.
But because you showed up. Always.
This isn’t a Hallmark love story.
This is repetition.
This is ritual.
This is my redemption.
This is half a sandwich saved without a word.
This is forgiveness after the fight.
This is choosing each other when it’s boring, brutal, or both.
You’re not just the calm. You’re the challenge.
The truth when it hurts.
The anchor when I drift.
The reminder that even when I’m knee-deep in deadlines and demons,
there’s a home waiting that doesn’t care about the scoreboard.
Just presence. Just effort. Just love—lived, not said.
And when I watched you become a mother?
The definition of “strong” cracked wide open.
Strength isn’t loud.
It’s the fifth reading of the same story.
It’s the laugh at the end of a hell-day.
It’s carrying weight that no one sees and still dancing in the kitchen.
Our daughter sees that.
That matters more than anything I’ll ever build.
So if marriage is a war of promises—here’s mine, written in calloused hands and stubborn breath—
I won’t guard my pride more than your peace.
I’ll fight fair and forgive fast.
I’ll keep learning your love language even as it evolves.
I’ll choose you when it’s easy. And especially when it’s not.
I’ll hold the line.
I’ll keep my promise.
Till I collapse.
Thank you for the unseen things.
For the cracked coffee mugs and the eye rolls that end in laughter.
For dragging this family forward even when it feels like uphill in the dark.
For being the warmth when I go cold.
For being the reason when I lose mine.
We’ve come two years.
There’s still a warpath ahead—new battles, new blessings, a daughter who will teach us how to be more human.
But I want all of it.
Hand in hand.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Promise to promise.
Happy Anniversary.
Here’s to the fight.
Here’s to the fire.
Here’s to us—till I collapse.