“All you need to know is that you have three women… No, four, as your sister adores you… You have four women who love you to bits, though you have one woman who practically worships the ground you walk on.” She took my hands, turning serious. “I’m sorry, Mark. We were so wrong, and we almost prevented two people’s love that should never have been denied.”
“It worked out in the end. You don’t need to apologise.”
Having spent two years on holiday, we didn’t bother having a honeymoon, Amy suggested we just take a week off work once she was in her fertile period and spend the entire week attempting to get her pregnant. To say we spent the week naked in our house and screwing on every possible surface and in every room isn’t an understatement.
It worked though. Three months later, we announced that she was pregnant.
We’re both now thirty years old. We own our home outright as the mortgage was paid off. We each had a car that could take us to work and ferry the family around. We had three kids as Amy wanted that many as a minimum. We had three daughters, and I was one proud father while Amy was such a natural mother, she could probably write books about motherhood to be read by millions.
For our tenth anniversary, we were already discussing the idea of returning to a city we held very dear in our hearts. It’s not on the tourist trail and not somewhere most people outside of Spain would even know, but I knew that it would be a city that we’d return to more than once. It was simply that special to us.
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