"Husband?"

Fang Yiyi tiptoed in with a cup of coffee, setting it carefully beside my hand.

"How’d you get here?"

Seeing that familiar face, a slight warmth bloomed in my chest.

"Ah—"

A gasp escaped her as I yanked Fang Yiyi onto my lap, burying my face in her hair, savoring her supple warmth in silence.

"You scared me to death!"

After a second of fluster, her soft hands looped around my neck. She pressed a light kiss to my lips.

"Can’t I bring my husband coffee?"

"I never said you couldn’t…"

I mumbled against her ear, arms tightening like I could fuse our bodies together.

"Be good. Let go…"

Fang Yiyi gently pushed me away, stepping behind me. Her palms settled on my shoulders, kneading away the stiffness with practiced ease.

She’d always had this gift—even the first time she massaged me, her touch was flawless.

After a day hunched over my keyboard, my bones felt like stone. Now, lost in the rhythm of her hands, I almost didn’t want it to end.

"Stuck again?"

My screen was blank. Hours here, not a single word written.

"So close… I can *feel* it, but it just slips away."

I drained the coffee in one bitter gulp, chasing clarity.

This novel’s climax should’ve gripped readers—make them ache or soar. That’s what a great story does.

But now…

Sure, this draft would still sell. Yet the flaw gnawed at me. I *knew* I could do better. Just one spark of inspiration missing, and the whole piece felt broken.

A full day wasted. No progress.

"Then stop staring. You’ve been at it all day! I care about you."

Fang Yiyi stilled her hands, leaning against my back. She saved the document and shut down the computer—smooth, practiced motions. How many times had she pulled me back when I’d spiraled too deep?

"Hey—"

I reached to stop her, too late. The spinning wheel filled my vision.

"…Fine. You win."

She meant well. Staring at this screen wouldn’t magically fix the story.

"Husband… did you forget what you promised me today?"

Fang Yiyi rested her chin on my shoulder. A hint of lavender floated with her words, clearing the fog in my mind.

"Promised… what?"

I frowned, still tangled in the story’s threads. Her question drew a blank.

"*Christmas Eve!* I reminded you yesterday! How could you forget?"

Seeing my genuine confusion, she feigned anger and gave my neck a playful squeeze.

"Oh—right!"

Memory flashed: last night, her whispering plans to shop for gifts together.

"Sorry. Writer’s block’s got me frazzled…"

I caught her hand, squeezing gently. Shame warmed my cheeks—forgetting a promise to my wife.

"So *stop* writing. Come out. Fresh air’ll help."

She pulled away, taking my empty cup. At the door, she glanced back. "Coming?"

"Yeah… right behind you."

I stretched, joints crackling. *Maybe start running tomorrow. That treadmill’s only ever used by her.*

I’d dodged every workout plea. This sedentary life wouldn’t age me well.

One last look at the darkening study…

*Might grab some bamboo stalks while we’re out.*

Fang Yiyi’s succulents thrived on my desk, but they felt… small. Bamboo, I recalled, was said to boost creativity in feng shui. Superstitious? Maybe. But desperate times…

………………

………………

"Yiyi, seen my gray sweater?"

I rummaged through the closet. All my sweaters hung neatly—her doing, as always.

"Huh?"

Fang Yiyi dropped her makeup brush, rushing over. Her hands gripped my arms, eyes wide.

"It’s *right there*! I laid everything out!"

I followed her finger. There it was—down jacket, sweater, pants—all folded perfectly on the bed.

How had I missed it?

"Sorry… didn’t see it."

I rubbed my neck, embarrassed. Today was rough.

"You okay? Maybe just sleep it off…"

Her palm cupped my cheek, thumb brushing my temple. Cool. Soothing.

"Nah. Promised you. A walk’ll clear my head."

I pushed her hand away gently, pulled her close, and kissed her hard. Forced a smile. "Don’t worry."

"Then… let’s just buy the gifts and head back. We’ll give them to Mom and Xiaoxi tomorrow."

Fang Yiyi sat on the bed, voice soft. Her smile was warm, but my heart clenched.

"*I* have to go too?"

My fake smile vanished.

"Of course! I’m not facing them alone."

She tugged my sleeve, pouting. Impossible to refuse.

"Your mom still looks ready to murder me. You know that."

That was the real headache. Months later, not one kind glance from her.

"Sorry…"

Fang Yiyi stuck out her tongue. She’d caused this mess—faking a pregnancy report. No wonder her belly never grew…

She’d wanted to confess when the truth surfaced, but I’d refused. This secret had to stay buried. Her reputation mattered more than my discomfort.

"Why’d you do it? You’re not impulsive."

In my mind, Fang Yiyi was always the rule-follower. That’s why I’d believed the report without question.

"Mad again?"

She rose, wrapping her arms around my neck, dangling from me. Gravity pulled us down onto the bed. Side by side, our eyes held only each other—full of love.

"After all this time? Honestly… a fake pregnancy’s better than the real thing. I’d rather you were safe."

I flicked her nose.

"Someone had to shatter the stalemate. Waiting for you to make a move? Might’ve taken years."

She nestled into my chest, smiling up at me. Her lips brushed mine—soft, fleeting.

"Your method was… extreme. I actually thought I’d be a dad! I was over the moon."

I rolled over, pinning her beneath me, grinning wickedly.

Grateful she’d broken my hesitation, yes—but no chance to refuse? That stung.

"I read somewhere," she murmured, "if a man panics when you say you’re pregnant—making excuses about timing—he’s not serious about marriage. Rejection hides in hesitation."

"Guess I’m not that guy, then."

Her smile widened as she continued.

"But if he’s overjoyed? Protective? Eager for the baby? *That’s* a man who loves you. A man who takes responsibility."

"High praise. Thanks."

Pride warmed me. I bumped my forehead against hers, easing the tension, then slowly got up.

Today’s mood was foul—ruined by that stubborn chapter. But Fang Yiyi had dreamed of this Christmas Eve for weeks. I wouldn’t taint it.

"Let’s go. Today’s about you."

I grabbed the down jacket from the bed and shrugged it on.

Fang Yiyi saw me get up and sat straight herself, smoothing her hair.

She gave me a quick once-over, ignoring my protests, and started forcefully straightening my clothes...

"I can dress myself—I'm not a kid anymore!"

It's always like this. I've gotten used to having Fang Yiyi in my life every day. If she ever suddenly vanished from my world, I wouldn't know what to do.

"What?! You've got your sweater on inside out! Pig! You're so clumsy!"

Fang Yiyi couldn't help but laugh, her eyes brimming with affection.