Rain tapped against the kitchen window of their Ohio home as Sarah traced the rim of her ceramic coffee mug. Across the quartz island, Mark was scrolling through his tablet, a slight frown of concentration on his face.

"So, next month," he said, setting the device down. "Ten years. A whole decade. We need to do something big to celebrate."

Sarah smiled, leaning against the counter. "I don’t know about *big*. Honestly, the idea of dealing with airports and jet lag right now just makes me tired."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "No Paris? No week-long resort in Maui? I was just looking at flights."

"It’s sweet," she said, reaching over to nudge his arm. "But think about what we actually enjoy doing together, especially lately. Between Emma’s soccer tournaments and your firm's quarterly reports, we're always rushing. Remember our third anniversary? The little A-frame cabin up in Hocking Hills?"

Mark chuckled, the memory softening his features. "The one with the questionable plumbing and the absolute best fire pit?"

"Exactly. What if we rent a slightly nicer place out there? Just the two of us, a few hiking trails, a couple bottles of good cabernet, and steaks on a grill. We can drop the kids at my mom's in Columbus on Friday and just breathe for three days."

Mark considered it. He looked around their kitchen, cluttered with the beautiful, exhausting chaos of their daily lives—permission slips, stray Legos, a stack of half-read mail. The thought of a quiet, uninterrupted weekend in the woods suddenly held much more appeal than a cramped transatlantic flight.

"Steaks, wine, and no schedules," Mark repeated, a genuine smile breaking across his face. He covered her hand with his. "You know, a cabin sounds perfect. I’ll start looking at rentals today."


Rain tapped gently against the living room window of their Columbus home. Mark closed his laptop and rubbed his eyes, turning toward his wife, Sarah, who was curled up on the opposite end of the sofa with a mug of chamomile tea.

"So, we have exactly one month," Mark said, leaning back against the cushions. "Ten years. We should probably figure out what we’re doing before all the good flights are booked."

Sarah lowered her mug, a soft smile touching her lips. "I was just thinking about that. Were you still looking at Napa?"

"Napa, or maybe Hawaii," Mark replied, though his tone lacked its usual conviction. "We always said we’d do something massive for a milestone. But honestly? The thought of a long flight and draining half our savings sounds a little exhausting right now."

Sarah let out a gentle laugh of relief. "Oh, thank God. I didn't want to be the boring one who ruined the grand plans. Work has been so chaotic lately, I just want to actually spend time with you, not a packed itinerary."

"Exactly," Mark agreed, mirroring her smile. "So, what's the anti-itinerary plan?"

Sarah shifted, tucking her legs beneath her. "Remember that cabin we rented in the Blue Ridge Mountains right after we got married? The one with the terrible Wi-Fi and the amazing screened-in porch?"

Mark’s eyes lit up. "The one where it rained for three days straight and we lived on canned chili and cheap wine?"

"That's the one," Sarah said. "What if we just drove down there? No airports, no fancy dinner reservations. Just us, the mountains, and maybe a slightly better bottle of wine this time."

Mark reached across the couch, warmly squeezing her hand. "I think that sounds like the perfect way to celebrate ten years. I'll see if it's available."


Rain tapped against the kitchen window as Mark refilled his coffee mug, his eyes lingering on the wall calendar. "Hey, Sarah? Next month is the big one. Ten years."

Sarah looked up from her laptop, the morning light catching a soft smile on her face. "I know. A whole decade. We’ve survived three out-of-state moves, two career changes, and adopting a terrier who eats drywall."

Mark chuckled, leaning against the quartz counter. "So, how are we celebrating? I was looking at flights to Hawaii. Or maybe Italy? We always said we'd go back to Rome for our tenth."

Sarah sighed, closing her laptop. "Rome sounds incredible, but with my team's software launch next month, I can't swing two weeks of PTO. Plus, kennel fees for Buster for that long? It’s practically a second mortgage."

"True," Mark conceded, taking a sip of his dark roast. "What are you thinking, then? Just a nice dinner out downtown?"

"No, that's too small," Sarah said, turning her chair to face him fully. "We need a real escape. What if we rent one of those secluded cabins in the Blue Ridge Mountains? Just a long, four-day weekend. We can hike, drink wine on the porch, and actually talk without our phones buzzing. And Buster can come with us."

Mark’s face brightened, the tension of trip-planning visibly leaving his shoulders. "No airport security, no jet lag. Just us and the mountains." He walked over, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. "I'll start looking at cabin rentals tonight. Maybe see if there's a great farm-to-table place near Asheville we can book for the actual night of our anniversary."

"Perfect," Sarah said, reaching up to squeeze his hand. "Ten years. Let's make it a quiet one to remember."


Rain tapped softly against the kitchen window as Sarah dried the last dinner plate. Mark sat at the granite island, his laptop screen glowing, but his eyes were fixed on the wall calendar.

"Two weeks, Sar," he said, gently closing the laptop. "Our tenth. We still haven't decided what we're actually doing."

Sarah draped the dish towel over the oven handle and leaned against the counter. "I know. Part of me really wants to do the whole cliché trip to Hawaii we talked about when we first got married. But looking at the recent roof repair bill..."

"Yeah, the roof kind of killed the tropical vibe," Mark chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it’s a decade. We can't just order Thai takeout and watch a movie like it's a random Tuesday."

"Agreed. What if we took a long weekend instead? Drive up the coast to Carmel? We haven't been since our honeymoon."

Mark’s face brightened. "I like that. We could book that little bed and breakfast with the ocean view. It’s not Oahu, but it’s us."

"Exactly," Sarah smiled, walking over to wrap her arms around his shoulders. "And we wouldn't spend half the weekend standing in line at an airport. We can hike Point Lobos, get a ridiculously expensive seafood dinner, and actually just relax together."

"Let me see if the B&B has an opening," Mark said, reopening his laptop. He typed for a moment, his eyes scanning the screen before a grin spread across his face. "They have one cottage left. The one with the fireplace."

"Book it," Sarah said softly, resting her chin on his head. "It’s perfect. It's not about how far we go, anyway."

"No," Mark agreed, clicking the confirmation button and reaching up to cover her hand with his. "It's just about who I'm going with."


The Sunday morning rain tapped softly against the kitchen window, framing a gray suburban Wisconsin sky. At the island counter, David scrolled through his phone while Maya cradled her second mug of coffee, staring thoughtfully at the wall calendar.

"It’s next month," Maya said, breaking the quiet. "The fifteenth."

David looked up, lowering his screen. "Ten years. A whole decade since we survived that hurricane on our honeymoon."

Maya smiled, leaning her elbows on the cool quartz. "I was thinking about what we should do. My mom actually offered to take the kids for the entire weekend."

"The whole weekend?" David’s eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "We should take advantage of that. We could finally do that Napa trip we’ve been talking about."

Maya sighed softly, tracing the rim of her mug. "I looked at flights last night. They’re astronomical right now. Plus, taking time off work with the quarter-end coming up... trying to force a big vacation just feels like more stress than a celebration."

David nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken weight of their current budget and general exhaustion. "Okay. No cross-country flights. What if we keep it local? We haven't been to that bed and breakfast up in Door County since before Leo was born."

Maya’s eyes brightened. "The one with the wrap-around porch and those incredible blueberry scones?"

"That’s the one," David said, stepping around the counter to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "We can drive up Friday, leave the laptops at home, hike the state park, and just... be us for a couple of days."

Maya leaned into his side, the tension in her shoulders melting away. "No airports, no cooking, and absolutely no setting an alarm."

"Happy early anniversary," David murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"Book it," she said.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Sarah wiped down the granite countertops. Across the island, Mark was nursing his evening tea, scrolling absently through his phone.

"So," Sarah began, tossing the dish towel over the oven handle. "Next month. Ten years."

Mark looked up, locking his phone and setting it face down. "I haven't forgotten. The big one-zero. I was actually looking at weekend rentals in Asheville just now."

Sarah leaned against the counter, smiling softly. "A cabin in the mountains sounds lovely. But is a whole weekend away going to stress us out more than it relaxes us? With the kids' soccer tournament and your busy season at work, October is already packed."

Mark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're right. I just felt like we needed to do something grand. Ten years is a big milestone. We always said we'd go to Italy, remember?"

"We said a lot of things ten years ago," Sarah laughed, pulling out a stool and sitting across from him. "Italy isn't going anywhere. But honestly, the thought of airports and packing right now just makes me tired."

"Fair enough. So, what's the alternative?" Mark asked. "Our usual dinner at Luigi's? Seems a little anticlimactic."

"What if we take the Friday off?" Sarah suggested. "Send the kids to school, and we just have the house entirely to ourselves for the day. We could try cooking that complicated seafood risotto we completely ruined on our third anniversary, open that expensive bottle of wine we’ve been saving, and actually eat in the dining room."

Mark’s shoulders dropped, a genuine grin spreading across his face. "No airports, no packing, and no teenagers?"

"Just us," Sarah said.

"Deal," Mark reached across the island to take her hand. "But I'm picking the dessert."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Mark refilled Sarah’s coffee mug. Between them on the butcher-block island lay a glossy travel brochure and a practical-looking spiral planner.

"So, a decade," Mark said, leaning against the counter. "Ten years next month. We should probably figure this out before all the good flights are booked."

Sarah traced the rim of her mug, eyeing the brochure. "I know we talked about Hawaii. And I really would love to go. But looking at our remaining PTO for the year, plus the cost of boarding Buster for a full week... I just don't know if we can swing it without stressing ourselves out."

"I was thinking the exact same thing," Mark admitted with a small sigh of relief. "As amazing as Maui sounds, I don't want to spend our tenth anniversary checking my phone to see if the dog ate the sofa, or worrying about the credit card bill."

"Exactly." Sarah pulled her planner closer. "What if we keep it closer to home? We could drive up to the mountains. Get a really nice cabin with a hot tub for a long weekend. No airports, no kennel—Buster can come with us."

Mark’s face brightened. "A cabin in Asheville? We haven't been since our first anniversary. We could hike during the day, and do dinner at that tapas place we loved."

"Curate," Sarah said, smiling as the memory surfaced. "Yes! And we can use the money we save on airfare to finally buy those Adirondack chairs we’ve been wanting for the fire pit. A trip, plus a gift for the house."

"A mountain weekend and a backyard upgrade," Mark said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "Sounds perfectly us. I'll start looking up cabin rentals."


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their suburban Ohio kitchen, casting long shadows across the granite island. Sarah nursed her coffee, scrolling mindlessly through the news, while Mark carefully flipped a pair of over-easy eggs.

"So," Mark began, tapping the spatula against the edge of the skillet. "Two weeks until the big one. A decade."

Sarah looked up, a warm smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Ten years. Hard to believe. Have you thought about what we should do?"

"I was looking at flights to Napa," Mark said, sliding the eggs onto two plates and handing one to her. "But honestly? The thought of dealing with the airport right now sounds exhausting."

Sarah laughed, taking the plate. "I thought I was the only one feeling that way. A trip sounds romantic in theory, but I don't really want to spend our anniversary stressed about TSA lines and rental cars."

Mark sat down across from her. "Exactly. So what's the alternative? A fancy dinner downtown?"

"Maybe," Sarah said, pausing thoughtfully. "But remember that little Italian place we went to the night we got the keys to this house? Giovanni's? It's not Michelin-starred, but we haven't been back since."

Mark's face lit up. "With the red checkered tablecloths and the terrible lighting? I love that place."

"We could go there," Sarah suggested, reaching across the table to lightly squeeze his hand. "And then come back here, open that expensive bottle of cabernet we’ve been saving, and actually use our patio fire pit for once."

"Dinner at Giovanni's and a fire in our own backyard," Mark agreed, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Sounds perfectly us. Happy almost ten years, Sarah."

"Happy almost ten years," she replied.


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, blurring the suburban Ohio street outside. Sarah wiped down the granite countertops while David loaded the last of the dinner plates into the dishwasher.

"It's exactly a month away," Sarah said, tossing the sponge into the sink. "Our tenth. Can you believe it?"

David closed the dishwasher with a soft click and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "A whole decade. I feel like we should do something a little grander than our usual Thai takeout on the couch."

"I was looking at flights to Napa," Sarah admitted, pulling up a kitchen stool. "But honestly? Between my project launch at work and your mother’s knee surgery next week, the thought of navigating airports and packing just makes me tired."

David let out a breath, a relieved smile touching his lips. "I’m glad you said that. I was bracing myself to ask for a week off. What if we kept it local, but made it actually mean something?"

"Like what?"

"Remember that cabin we rented up at Hocking Hills the year after we got married?" David asked. "The one with the terrible Wi-Fi and the woodstove? We could go hiking, build a fire, and just... unplug. No flights, no itineraries."

Sarah’s shoulders dropped, the ambient stress of the week melting away at the suggestion. "Just us and the trees," she said softly. "And maybe we bring a really expensive bottle of wine to make up for not going to California."

"Two bottles," David corrected, walking over to press a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll look up the rental site right now."

Sarah smiled, watching him pull his phone from his pocket. It wasn't a lavish getaway, but it was exactly what they needed.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Ohio home as Mark dried the last dinner plate. At the quartz island counter, Elena was scrolling through her tablet, a half-empty mug of peppermint tea resting beside her elbow. The house was finally quiet after a long Wednesday of work.

"So," Elena said, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. "Next month. The big ten."

Mark draped the damp dish towel over the oven handle and leaned against the counter. "I was just thinking about that. A whole decade. Have you looked at flights to Hawaii yet, or are we still pretending we have the energy for a twelve-hour travel day?"

Elena laughed, finally locking her tablet screen. "Actually, I was looking at cabins down in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Hawaii sounds incredible, but the thought of dealing with TSA and dragging suitcases through a massive resort makes me want to take a nap."

"A mountain cabin," Mark repeated, a smile forming. "Just us, a stone fireplace, and absolutely zero cell service?"

"Exactly," Elena said. "We can hike a section of the Appalachian Trail if we feel ambitious, or we can just sit on a wooden porch and drink Cabernet while staring at the trees. No itinerary. No rushing down to a lobby for a crowded breakfast."

Mark walked over and wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, kissing the top of her head. "I love the sound of that. Honestly, the best part of the last ten years has just been hanging out with you anyway."

"Don't get too soft on me, you still have to take out the recycling," Elena teased, reaching up to squeeze his hand. "But seriously, a long weekend in a cabin? We can splurge on a fancy dinner in Asheville on the drive down."

"Book it," Mark said. "Happy early anniversary, El."


Sunlight streamed through the kitchen blinds, catching the steam rising from David’s coffee mug. He tapped his pen against the open calendar on the granite island, tracing the outline of the second weekend in October.

"So," David said, looking up at his wife, Sarah, who was buttering a piece of toasted sourdough. "Ten years next month. Have we figured out what we’re actually doing?"

Sarah leaned against the counter, taking a thoughtful bite. "I was looking at flights to Charleston last night. We always said we’d go back to where we honeymooned for our tenth."

David smiled, though a slight crease appeared between his brows. "Charleston would be amazing. But with the roof repairs we just paid for, do we really want to drop a couple of grand on flights and hotels?"

Sarah sighed gently, wiping a crumb from her lip. "I know, I know. The timing isn't great financially. And honestly, the thought of dealing with airport security right now makes me tired anyway." She walked over and poured herself a second cup of coffee. "What if we just did a long weekend up in the mountains? Rent a cabin, take the dog, completely unplug."

"A cabin," David mused, the practical tension leaving his shoulders. "I like that. We haven't been hiking since last fall. We could get a nice dinner out in town on Friday night to actually celebrate, then spend the rest of the weekend just... breathing."

"Exactly," Sarah agreed, stepping close to rest her hand on his shoulder. "I don't need a massive trip to prove it's been a decade. I just want uninterrupted time with you."

David covered her hand with his. "A cabin it is. I'll look up some places near Shenandoah today. You handle the dinner reservations?"

"Deal." Sarah smiled. Ten years felt monumental, but the quiet simplicity of their plan felt exactly right.


The morning sunlight spilled across the kitchen island as Elena traced the rim of her coffee mug. Outside their suburban Ohio home, the maple tree was just beginning to turn a fiery orange, a reminder that October was fast approaching.

"So," Elena began, looking up at David, who was buttering a piece of toast. "Ten years next month. Are we actually going to make a decision, or just panic-book a fancy dinner the night before like year eight?"

David chuckled, taking a seat opposite her. "Hey, that Italian place was great, even if we ate at nine-thirty. But no, you're right. Ten years deserves better planning. I was looking at flights to Napa."

Elena smiled softly but hesitated. "Napa sounds amazing. But honestly? Between my new project at work and the dogs, a cross-country trip feels almost more exhausting than relaxing right now."

David took a bite of his toast, nodding slowly. "I get that. I really do. The logistics alone give me a mild headache. But we can't just do takeout and a movie, El. It’s a decade. We need to celebrate us."

"What if we did a long weekend at the lake?" Elena suggested, leaning forward. "Just the two of us. We can rent that A-frame cabin we saw last summer up in Michigan. No airport security, no strict itineraries. Just hiking, wine by the fire, and actual uninterrupted conversation."

David’s eyes brightened as he visualized the getaway. "The one with the wrap-around porch?"

"Exactly."

"Okay," David said, reaching across the cool granite to cover her hand with his. "I love that idea. It’s quiet, it's just us, and I don't have to pack a suit. I'll look up the listing today."

Elena squeezed his fingers, her smile widening. "Perfect. Ten years down, and you still know exactly how to compromise."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Portland home, blurring the amber glow of the streetlights. Inside, the only sounds were the quiet hum of the dishwasher and the gentle clinking of a spoon as Elena stirred her chamomile tea.

"So," Mark said, leaning against the granite counter and crossing his arms. "Next month. Ten years."

Elena smiled, the steam from her mug warming her face. "A whole decade. We survived our twenties and the great plumbing disaster of 2019."

"Barely." Mark chuckled, walking over to pull out a stool at the kitchen island. "We should probably decide what we’re actually doing to celebrate. Your mom texted me yesterday asking if she needed to watch the dog."

Elena sighed, sitting down across from him. "I know we talked about going back to Hawaii, but honestly? Between my new project at work and the remaining mortgage payments, I don't think I have the mental energy for a six-hour flight."

"Me neither," Mark admitted, visibly relieved. "I priced out the flights on Tuesday. It felt more like a financial stressor than a vacation. But we can't just stay here and order Thai takeout either."

"We could," Elena joked, before her expression softened. "What about a long weekend at the coast? Cannon Beach. We could rent one of those little A-frame cabins with a woodstove, bundle up, and do absolutely nothing. No airports, no rigid itineraries."

Mark’s eyes lit up. "A cabin. Just us, Buster, and a ridiculous amount of expensive wine?"

"Exactly." Elena reached across the butcher-block counter, her fingers brushing his. "We can save the tropical islands for year fifteen."

Mark turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Cannon Beach it is. I'll look for a cabin tonight. You pick the wine."


Morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen blinds as Mark refilled his coffee mug. He leaned against the granite counter, watching Elena scroll thoughtfully on her tablet at the island.

"Our tenth anniversary is in exactly one month," Mark said, taking a sip. "Have you thought any more about what we're doing?"

Elena sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "I looked at flights to Hawaii, like we talked about last year. But honestly? With the roof repair coming up next month and my quarterly reviews at work, planning a big trip right now just feels stressful."

Mark nodded slowly. He felt a brief pang of disappointment, but it was quickly swallowed by relief. "I was thinking the same thing. I want to celebrate ten years, but I don't want to spend our anniversary worrying about our savings account."

"Exactly," Elena said, her posture relaxing. She set the tablet face down on the counter. "What if we just stay here? Not in the house, but in the city."

"Like a staycation?" Mark asked.

"Better. A nostalgia tour." Elena smiled, the idea clearly catching fire in her mind. "We could book a night at the Palmer House downtown. Get dinner at that tiny Italian place where we had our first date—if it's still open—and walk along the lakefront."

Mark grinned, walking over to press a kiss to her temple. "I love that. It’s exactly what we did the night we got engaged."

"Right? We can dress up, drop the dog off at your sister's house, and just focus on us for twenty-four hours. No home repairs, no spreadsheets."

"I'll call the restaurant today and see if we can get our old corner booth," Mark said, pulling his phone from his pocket. It wasn't a tropical beach, but to both of them, it sounded absolutely perfect.


Morning sunlight poured into the suburban kitchen, illuminating the steam rising from Mark’s coffee mug. He leaned against the granite counter, watching his wife, Elena, absentmindedly butter her sourdough toast.

"So," Mark began, tapping his fingers against the ceramic mug. "Next month. The big one-oh."

Elena looked up, a soft smile breaking through her Sunday morning grogginess. "Ten years. It feels completely surreal, but also like it’s been fifty."

"Thanks," Mark laughed. "I was thinking we should do something substantial to celebrate, you know? Not just the usual hurried dinner at that Italian place downtown."

Elena set her knife down, giving the idea some serious thought. "I agree, we need to mark the occasion properly. But I also don't want the stress of planning a massive international trip. You know how work has been lately. Flying to Europe sounds romantic until we're exhausted, jet-lagged, and sneaking peaks at our emails."

"Fair point," Mark said, walking over to join her at the small oak dining table. "What if we split the difference? A long weekend up in Maine? We haven't been back to Acadia since our honeymoon."

Elena’s eyes brightened. "Oh, I'd really love that. Just renting a quiet, cozy cabin, hiking during the day, and maybe getting a ridiculous amount of fresh lobster."

"Exactly


The Sunday morning sun filtered through the kitchen blinds of their suburban Ohio home, illuminating the steam rising from Mark’s coffee mug. Across the oak table, Elena scrolled through her calendar, letting out a soft sigh.

"Can you believe it’s going to be ten years next month?" she asked, setting her phone face down on the wood.

Mark lowered his mug, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "A decade. We survived our twenties, a thirty-year mortgage, and that disastrous attempt at installing our own backyard patio."

Elena laughed. "Barely. So, how are we celebrating? The big one-zero deserves a little more effort than our usual Friday night takeout and a movie."

"I was thinking about that," Mark said, leaning forward. "We could finally take that trip to Napa Valley. We've talked about it since we were engaged."

Elena chewed her bottom lip, genuinely considering it. "Napa sounds amazing. But with my big software launch at work next month, flying across the country and planning a massive itinerary might just stress me out. I want to actually relax with you."

"Fair point," Mark agreed, tapping his fingers against his mug. "What if we keep it a bit more local? We could rent a secluded cabin down in the Hocking Hills for a long weekend. No airports, no rigid schedules. Just us, a hot tub, a fireplace, and a few bottles of ridiculously expensive wine we can pick up on the drive."

Elena’s expression instantly softened. "A quiet cabin. Hiking during the day, sitting by the fire at night. That actually sounds perfect."

"We can still splurge on a tasting menu at that upscale restaurant downtown the night before we leave," Mark added.

"Deal," Elena said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "Ten years, and you still know exactly what I need."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Sarah scrolled through the vacation rental listings on her laptop. Beside her, David was methodically chopping bell peppers for their Tuesday night fajitas.

"Can you believe it's going to be ten years next month?" Sarah asked, turning the screen so he could see. "I was looking at flights to Hawaii, but honestly, the thought of a twelve-hour travel day makes me tired just thinking about it."

David paused, scraping the peppers into a hot skillet with a satisfying sizzle. "Ten years. It feels like two, but my knees definitely say ten." He wiped his hands on a dish towel and leaned over her shoulder. "Hawaii sounds amazing, but with the kitchen remodel coming up, maybe we shouldn't blow the budget on airfare."

"Exactly," Sarah agreed, leaning back against him. "But we can't just do dinner at the Italian place downtown again. It’s a milestone. It needs to feel special."

David tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What if we rented a cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains? Just for a long weekend. We could hike, actually use that fancy telescope you got me for Christmas, and completely disconnect."

Sarah’s face brightened. "No cell service?"

"Absolutely no cell service," David confirmed with a grin. "Just us, some decent wine, and a fireplace."

"I love that," Sarah said, her fingers already flying across the trackpad to adjust her search parameters. "It’s quiet, it’s beautiful, and it reminds me of that trip we took to Asheville when we were just dating."

David kissed the top of her head before turning back to the stove. "Perfect. Book it. Happy early anniversary, Sarah."

"Happy early anniversary," she smiled, feeling the warmth of the kitchen and the steady, quiet comfort of a decade spent together.


Morning sunlight filtered through the oak trees and into the kitchen of their suburban Ohio home. Mark leaned against the island counter, absently tracing the rim of his coffee mug.

"Can you believe it's going to be ten years next month?" he asked, looking across the room at his wife.

Sarah looked up from her laptop at the dining table, pushing a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. "A whole decade," she murmured, a soft smile touching her lips. "It sounds so much heavier when you say it like that. We definitely need to do something better than our usual rushed Tuesday night dinner at the bistro downtown."

"I looked into flights to Napa Valley," Mark offered, pulling up a saved tab on his phone. "But honestly, between the dog's vet bills last month and the new HVAC system we had to put in, the flights and hotels are feeling a bit steep right now."

Sarah nodded in immediate agreement, closing her laptop. "I don't want to spend our milestone anniversary stressing about credit card statements. What if we took a long weekend and drove up to that A-frame cabin in Hocking Hills? Just the two of us, a roaring fire, and absolutely no work emails. We could hike the same trails we used to explore when we were first dating."

Mark’s shoulders dropped as the subtle tension of planning left him, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "That actually sounds perfect. We can pack a few good steaks, bring that bottle of Cabernet we’ve been saving, and actually talk to each other."

"Exactly," Sarah said, standing up to pour herself another cup of coffee. "Ten years is a big deal. I just want to spend it focused on you."

Mark walked over, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "The cabin it is. I'll book it today."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Portland Craftsman, but inside, the smell of freshly brewed drip coffee made the dreary Saturday morning feel perfectly warm. Sarah curled her feet under the edge of the woven throw blanket and looked up from her laptop screen.

"So," she said, catching David's eye across the coffee table. "Next month. Ten years."

David lowered his section of the weekend paper, a slow smile spreading across his face. "A whole decade. We survived our twenties and this house's original plumbing."

"Barely," Sarah laughed. "But we need to figure out what we’re actually doing to celebrate. I was looking at flights to Maui, but honestly? The thought of a long flight, a rental car, and packing right after my big quarterly review sounds exhausting."

David leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I agree. We don’t need to do a massive, expensive blowout just because it’s a round number. What if we kept it closer to home?"

"Like the coast?" Sarah suggested, her interest piqued. "We haven't been out to Cannon Beach since before we adopted the dog."

"Exactly. We could rent one of those little A-frame cabins," David said, his enthusiasm building. "Leave on a Friday, take Buster with us. We can spend the weekend walking the beach in the mist, drinking decent Oregon Pinot, and strictly ignoring our emails."

Sarah closed her laptop with a soft click. The grand Hawaiian vacation had been the societal expectation, but the quiet cabin felt like *them*. "Just the three of us, a lot of firewood, and absolutely no itineraries," she smiled.

"And a nice dinner out," David added, reaching over to squeeze her ankle through the blanket. "I'm not letting a tenth anniversary pass without at least ordering a good steak."

"Deal," Sarah said, opening her laptop back up. "I'll start looking up cabin rentals right now. You check out the restaurants."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, but inside, the house smelled warmly of roasted garlic and freshly brewed coffee. Sarah leaned against the granite island, tracing the rim of her mug while Mark scrolled through his tablet.

"So," Mark said, looking up. "Next month. Ten years."

Sarah smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across her face. "A whole decade. How did we survive our twenties, again?"

"Lots of cheap takeout and blind optimism," Mark laughed, setting the tablet down. "We need to do something real to celebrate. I was originally looking at flights to Hawaii, but honestly, with the roof repairs coming up..."

"No, definitely no Hawaii," Sarah agreed quickly. "We don't need the stress of a massive credit card bill hanging over what's supposed to be a romantic trip. What if we just did a long weekend somewhere closer?"

Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. "Like the Blue Ridge Mountains? We haven't been out to Asheville since before we bought this house."

Sarah’s eyes lit up. "That actually sounds perfect. We could rent one of those little A-frame cabins. Wake up, drink coffee on the deck, go for a hike, and just... turn off our phones for three days."

"I love it," Mark said, tapping a new search into his tablet. "But I want to do one fancy dinner, too. Deal?"

"Deal," Sarah said, walking around the island to wrap her arms around his shoulders. "As long as it doesn't involve me wearing heels on a hiking trail."

Mark kissed the top of her head. "Sneakers only. I’ll book the cabin tonight."

It wasn't a grand, cinematic gesture, but as Sarah squeezed his shoulder, she felt entirely content. Ten years of marriage had taught them exactly what they needed, and a quiet mountain morning together was worth far more than a tropical beach.


Rain lashed against the bay window of their Seattle townhouse, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of dark roast coffee. David leaned over the granite island, tracing a heavily inked circle around the fifteenth of next month on their shared wall calendar.

"Ten years," he said, shaking his head. "It feels like we should do something massive. A week in Italy? A cabin in Banff?"

Elena looked up from her laptop, wrapping both hands around her favorite ceramic mug. "Banff sounds amazing, but with my firm's software launch on the twelfth and Leo’s middle school orientation, a whole week away might just stress us out."

David sighed, acknowledging the truth in her words. "You’re right. But I don't want to just go to the steakhouse downtown, either. This is a big milestone, El. We survived a decade, three cross-country moves, and raising a kid. We deserve a real celebration."

"We do," Elena agreed softly. She closed her laptop and walked over, resting her chin on his shoulder. "What if we compromise? Three days. Just the two of us, completely unplugged."

David tilted his head, leaning into her warmth. "Like where?"

"What about that little cedar-shingled bed and breakfast in the San Juan Islands? The one we drove past but couldn't afford when we were in our twenties. We take the Friday morning ferry, leave our laptops at home, and just… be together. Drink good wine. Watch the water."

David turned to face her, a slow smile spreading across his face. The grand, expensive European trip had felt a bit like a performance, but Elena’s idea felt like an actual reward.

"Three days, no screens, and all the Pacific oysters we can eat," David said, pulling her into a hug. "I'll book the ferry."


The clatter of dishes in the sink provided a familiar soundtrack as Elena and David cleaned up their Tuesday night dinner. Outside their Chicago-area home, a light autumn rain tapped against the kitchen window.

"So," David said, handing Elena a wet ceramic plate to dry. "Three weeks until the big one. Ten years."

Elena paused, the dish towel draped over her hands. "I know. A whole decade. Have you thought any more about what we should do to celebrate?"

"I was looking at flights to Hawaii," David admitted, leaning back against the granite counter. "But honestly? The prices are absurd right now, and trying to take a full week off work right before the end of the quarter sounds exhausting."

Elena laughed, a warm, easy sound. "I thought the exact same thing today. I looked at a resort in Maui and practically had a heart attack. Plus, do we really want to spend our milestone anniversary jet-lagged and stressed?"

"Exactly." David picked up the sponge again. "What if we kept it local? We could book that historic boutique hotel downtown for the weekend. The one with the rooftop restaurant we’ve been meaning to try since we moved in."

Elena’s eyes lit up. "Oh, the art deco place? I love that idea. We could actually relax, sleep in, and maybe go walk through the botanical gardens where we took our engagement photos."

"A little nostalgia tour," David smiled, bumping his shoulder gently against hers. "I like the sound of that. A great steak dinner, absolutely no cooking, and zero airport security."

"Perfect," Elena said, setting the dry plate into the cabinet. "It’s a date. Though I do expect you to dress up for that rooftop."

"Suit and tie," David promised, turning off the faucet. "For ten years with you, it's the least I can do."


The morning sun slanted through the kitchen blinds, warming the hardwood floor where Sarah stood leaning against the kitchen island. She swiped thoughtfully on her tablet, scrolling through her calendar app.

"Can you believe it’s going to be ten years next month?" she asked, looking up.

Mark set his coffee mug down on the counter, lowering his phone. "Ten years," he echoed, a slow smile spreading across his face. "A whole decade. We should probably do something a little bigger than our usual Thai takeout and a movie."

"I was thinking the exact same thing," Sarah said, walking over to join him. "But honestly, I don't want the stress of planning a huge party. And taking a whole week off for a major trip right now feels impossible with my department's software launch."

Mark nodded in agreement, leaning back against the cabinets. "What if we keep it just the two of us, but make it count? We could drive up the coast for the weekend. Rent a little cabin near Big Sur."

Sarah’s eyes lit up. "Oh, I love that idea. We haven’t been up there since before we bought this house. We could hike through the state park in the morning and actually unplug for a few days."

"Exactly," Mark said. "No laptops, no chores, no yard work. Just us, a couple of good bottles of wine, and the ocean." He pulled her into a brief, warm hug. "I can look at some weekend rentals today if you want."

"Yes, please," Sarah said, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Maybe we can even get a reservation at that cliffside seafood place we went to on our honeymoon, if it’s still open."

"I'll check," Mark promised. "A cabin, coastal views, and overpriced crab legs. Sounds like the perfect ten years."


The clatter of silverware against porcelain filled the kitchen as Mark loaded the dishwasher. At the island, Elena wiped down the granite countertop, pausing to stare out the window at the fading Ohio sunset.

"So," Elena said, tossing the damp cloth into the sink. "Next month. The big one-o."

Mark closed the dishwasher door with a soft click and leaned against it, crossing his arms. "Ten years. Hard to believe we’ve survived a full decade of my cooking."

Elena laughed, pouring the last of the red wine into two glasses and sliding one toward him. "Your chili is a culinary masterpiece, and you know it. But seriously, what are we doing? My mom keeps asking if we’re throwing a big party or going to Hawaii."

Mark took a sip of the wine, his expression turning thoughtful. "Do you want to go to Hawaii? We could probably swing it if we pull from the vacation fund, but it'd be tight with the roof needing repairs this fall."

"No," Elena shook her head quickly. "I don't want the stress of a massive trip. I just want it to be us. No airports, no itineraries, no catering menus."

"What about a long weekend at that cabin down in Hocking Hills?" Mark suggested, his eyes brightening. "The one we rented when we first got engaged. We can hike, build a fire, and actually sleep in."

Elena smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across her chest. It wasn't a grand, cinematic gesture, but it was perfectly them. "Only if we stop at that terrible diner on the way up."

"The one with the soggy fries? Absolutely," Mark grinned, reaching across the island to take her hand. "The cabin it is. Happy almost ten years, El."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, but inside, the smell of freshly ground coffee made the Sunday morning feel warm. Sarah sat at the kitchen island, scrolling idly through the calendar app on her phone.

"It’s exactly a month away," she said, looking up as David handed her a steaming mug.

"The big tenth," David said, leaning against the counter. He took a slow sip. "A whole decade of putting up with me. Have you thought about what you want to do?"

"I’ve mostly thought about what I *don't* want to do," Sarah chuckled. "No giant vow-renewal parties. My social battery still hasn't completely recovered from the actual wedding."

David smiled, remembering the exhaustion of that beautiful, chaotic day. "Fair enough. What about a trip? We could finally do Napa. Rent a convertible, spend a long weekend pretending we actually know things about wine tannins."

Sarah paused, warming her hands around the ceramic mug. "Napa sounds amazing. But to be honest, taking days off work right now with the quarterly reports due… I think the logistics would feel more stressful than relaxing."

"Okay, so no big trips, no big parties," David mused, drumming his fingers on the quartz countertop. "What if we keep it local? We haven't been to that fancy steakhouse downtown since we bought this house. We could book a quiet booth, get the tasting menu, and actually dress up for once."

"Oh, I really like that," Sarah’s eyes brightened. "And afterward, we could come back here, open the bottle of champagne my parents saved for us, and just... be home."

"Steakhouse dinner, followed by champagne on the couch in our pajamas," David concluded, his smile widening.

"Exactly." Sarah reached out, her fingers catching his. "It’s our ten years. Let's celebrate it exactly how we want to."


The kitchen was quiet except for the gentle hum of the dishwasher. Sarah leaned against the granite counter, cradling a warm mug of peppermint tea.

"Can you believe it’s going to be ten years next month?" she asked, looking across the kitchen island at David, who was casually sorting through the Tuesday mail.

David dropped a stack of grocery flyers onto the counter and smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "A full decade. I guess that means we should probably do something a little bigger than our usual dinner at Antonio's."

"I was thinking the exact same thing," Sarah said. "My mom offered to take the kids for a whole long weekend. We could actually go somewhere."

David’s eyes lit up. "What about Napa? We've talked about going wine tasting out in California for years."

Sarah bit her lip, considering the idea. "Napa would be amazing, but by the time we book cross-country flights and hotels this late, it might be more stressful than relaxing. Plus, we've still got that roof repair to pay for."

David sighed, nodding in agreement. "True. Practicality ruins the romance again. So, what’s the middle ground? Not a local restaurant, but not a six-hour flight."

"What if we drive up to Maine?" Sarah suggested, her tone softening. "We could rent a little place near Bar Harbor, just like we did on our first anniversary. We can hike in Acadia, eat too much lobster, and actually sleep in."

David stepped around the island and wrapped his arms around her waist. "No airports, no itineraries. Just the woods, the ocean, and you." He kissed the top of her head. "I love it. I'll start looking at cabins tonight."

Sarah smiled, leaning into his chest. A quiet weekend on the coast felt exactly right.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Elena refilled David’s coffee mug. The calendar on the fridge had a thick red circle around next Saturday: their tenth anniversary.

"So," Elena said, leaning against the counter. "Ten years. Are we actually going to figure out a plan, or just order Thai food and fall asleep on the couch like last year?"

David chuckled, setting down his tablet. "Hey, last year was a Tuesday. Ten years deserves a bit more effort. I was looking at that bed and breakfast up in the Berkshires. The one with the wrap-around porch?"

Elena smiled, tempted. "I love the Berkshires in autumn. But with Tommy’s soccer tournament on Sunday and the roof repair bill coming due, a whole weekend away feels stressful. I want to celebrate us, not worry about logistics."

"Fair point," David said, leaning back and rubbing his chin. "What if we keep it local, but make it an actual event? We haven't been to that Italian place downtown since we closed on this house."

"Trattoria Bella?" Elena’s eyes lit up. "Oh, I haven't thought about that place in ages. Their mushroom risotto is incredible."

"Exactly. We get a babysitter for Saturday night. Just the two of us, good wine, and absolutely no talk about the roof or the kids' schedules. And maybe," David added, reaching out to take her free hand, "we actually go to a movie afterward. Like a real, vintage date."

Elena squeezed his fingers, feeling the familiar, quiet warmth that a decade of marriage had only deepened. "Dinner and a movie. It sounds completely normal, which actually makes it perfect."

"I'll make the reservation," David promised.

"And I'll book the sitter," Elena agreed, suddenly looking forward to Saturday more than she had in months.


Rain tapped against the kitchen window as David poured two mugs of coffee, sliding one across the granite island to Elena.

"Can you believe it’s next month?" David asked, leaning against the counter. "Ten years."

Elena looked up from her laptop, a slow smile spreading across her face. "A whole decade. We should probably figure out what we’re doing for it, unless you want a repeat of year six."

David winced playfully at the memory of their disastrous, last-minute road trip to the coast. "Point taken. So, what are we thinking? We talked about Hawaii a few years ago, but with the kitchen renovation..."

"Yeah, Hawaii feels like a stretch right now," Elena agreed, wrapping both hands around her warm mug. "Honestly, I don't need a massive trip. I just want to actually unplug. No emails, no coordinating the kids' soccer schedules with your mom. Just us."

"A total blackout," David mused. He pulled his phone from his pocket. "What if we rented a cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains? It’s only a four-hour drive. We could hike, build a fire, and actually open that bottle of wine we bought in Napa on our honeymoon."

Elena’s eyes lit up. "The Cabernet we’ve been guarding with our lives?"

"That exact one," David nodded. "We’ve been saving it for a special occasion. I think surviving a decade of my cooking qualifies."

Elena laughed, reaching over to close her laptop. "I love it. It’s perfect. A weekend in the mountains, good wine, and zero cell service. Book it before we talk ourselves into something responsible like fixing the driveway."

David grinned, already tapping at his screen. "One secluded cabin for two, coming right up."


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Ohio kitchen, casting warm stripes across the oak dining table. David took a sip of his black coffee, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone before glancing up. "You know, the twentieth is exactly a month away."

Sarah paused, her mug halfway to her lips. Ten years. A whole decade since they had stood shivering in a Chicago botanical garden, reciting vows in the crisp autumn air. "I know," she said, a soft smile touching her eyes. "Have you thought about what we should do? My mom offered to take the kids for the whole weekend."

"I was looking at flights to Napa," David admitted, turning his phone to show her a tab of vineyard bed-and-breakfasts. "We always said we’d go back for the tenth."

Sarah leaned closer, studying the tiny photos of sun-drenched grapes. It looked beautiful, but also strangely exhausting. Between her recent promotion and David’s endless weekend home renovations, the thought of airports, rental cars, and strict itineraries felt heavy.

"Napa is gorgeous," she started gently, tracing the rim of her mug. "But honestly? What I really want is a weekend where we don’t have to rush. No TSA lines, no dinner reservations we have to dress up for."

David’s shoulders visibly relaxed, the subtle tension of planning a grand romantic gesture melting away. "You’re reading my mind," he laughed, setting the phone face down. "So, what’s the counter-offer?"

"A cabin up in Hocking Hills," Sarah suggested. "Just the two of us, a pile of firewood, some good steaks, and absolutely zero cell service. We can open that bottle of Cabernet we’ve been saving since year five."

David reached across the table, covering her hand with his. "Steaks, wine, and nowhere to be," he said softly. "It’s a date."


Rain tapped softly against the kitchen window of their Chicago townhouse as Elena refilled her coffee mug. She leaned against the granite counter, eyeing the calendar pinned to the fridge.

"David," she said, tracing a bold red circle around the fifteenth of next month. "Ten years. It’s really creeping up on us."

David looked up from his laptop at the kitchen island, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I know. A whole decade. We should probably do something a little bigger than our usual Tuesday night dinner at Mario's, right?"

"I was thinking the exact same thing," Elena said, pulling out a stool and sitting across from him. "Part of me wants to say let's book a flight to Hawaii, but realistically? Neither of us has the PTO right now, and that surprise roof repair really ate into the travel fund."

David sighed, folding his laptop shut. "True. But it still needs to be memorable. What if we took a long weekend? Just drive somewhere we’ve never been. Up into Michigan, maybe?"

"A secluded cabin?" Elena’s expression brightened. "Somewhere near the lake, with a fireplace and absolutely zero Wi-Fi."

"Exactly," David smiled, warming to the idea. "We can pack up the Subaru, bring those two expensive bottles of wine we've been hoarding since our wedding, and just exist together. No work emails, no yard work, no distractions."

Elena reached across the island, her fingers finding his. "I love that. We could even stop by that little antique town we drove through a few summers ago. Get a late lunch on the way up."

"It's a plan," David said, squeezing her hand. "I’ll look up cabin rentals around Traverse City this afternoon


Rain drummed against the kitchen window as David dried the last dinner plate. At the island counter, Elena scrolled idly through her phone, a half-empty mug of peppermint tea beside her.

"Two weeks," Elena said, her thumb hovering over the screen. "I can't believe it's been ten years."

David draped the dish towel over the oven handle and leaned across the granite counter. "A decade. We survived our twenties together. I think that deserves a little more than our usual Friday night takeout from Mario's."

Elena smiled, finally setting her phone face-down. "I was actually just looking at weekend flights to Charleston. We've always talked about going back to where we spent our honeymoon."

David rubbed the back of his neck, considering the idea. "Charleston would be amazing. But realistically? With that massive roof repair bill coming due next week, flights and a boutique hotel might stretch us pretty thin right now."

Elena sighed, though her expression remained gentle. "You're right. The roof has to take priority. I just really don’t want to sit on the couch and watch Netflix for our tenth anniversary."

"Agreed," David said, walking around the island to pull out the stool next to hers. "What if we took Friday off anyway? A long weekend, but staycation style. We could drive up to the state park, hike the ridge trail we did when we first started dating, and then splurge on a really nice steakhouse dinner downtown."

Elena tilted her head, picturing it. The crisp autumn air in the mountains, followed by an evening where they actually dressed up for once. "No work emails," she bargained. "And no phones, except to take a picture at the summit."

"Deal," David said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "Ten years. Let's make it a weekend we actually remember."


Rain tapped against the kitchen window of their Portland home as David poured the morning coffee. He slid a steaming mug across the granite island to Elena, who was idly scrolling through her phone.

"Two months until the big one," David said, leaning against the counter. "Tenth anniversary. Are we finally booking that Hawaii trip?"

Elena looked up, a warm smile settling on her face. "I actually looked at flights last night. Honestly? It feels exhausting just thinking about the airport connections, coordinating our time off, and finding a reliable dog sitter."

David chuckled, taking a slow sip of his dark roast. "Fair enough. But we can't just do dinner at the local Italian place again. A decade of keeping each other sane is a pretty big deal."

"I completely agree," Elena said, setting her phone face-down. "What if we rented that A-frame cabin near Mount Hood? Just the two of us, Buster, and zero cell service. We could hike, read by the fire, and actually cook together instead of ordering takeout."

David pondered the idea. It wasn't the extravagant tropical getaway they had jokingly promised each other on their wedding day, but it felt remarkably more *them*.

"Only if we stop at that little diner in Sandy on the way up," David bargained. "The one where we got stranded during the ice storm our first year of marriage."

"Deal," Elena laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Marionberry pie and stale diner coffee to celebrate ten years."

"We'll bring a really good bottle of champagne, too. Just to elevate things," David added. He walked around the island and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. It was a simple, low-stress plan, and exactly what they both needed.


The Sunday morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen blinds, catching the steam rising from Mark’s coffee mug. He leaned against the granite counter, watching his wife, Sarah, scroll through her tablet at the center island.

"So," Mark started, taking a slow sip. "Two weeks until the big one. A whole decade."

Sarah looked up, a soft smile breaking her intense focus. "Ten years. I can't believe it. I was just looking at flights to Hawaii, actually. Or maybe a long weekend in Napa? Everyone keeps asking what our grand plans are."

Mark walked over, pulling out a stool next to hers. "Napa sounds amazing. But to be completely honest, the idea of packing, dealing with TSA, and spending half a short weekend in transit sounds a little exhausting right now."

Sarah let out a gentle sigh, turning off the tablet screen. "You're right. Work has been so chaotic for both of us lately. The last thing I want is to feel rushed and stressed on our anniversary." She nudged his knee with hers. "What are you thinking, then? The tasting menu at that new French place downtown?"

"Maybe," Mark said, tracing the rim of his ceramic mug. "Or we could do what we did on our first anniversary in that terrible little apartment in Chicago. We order way too much from our favorite Thai place, open that expensive bottle of wine we’ve been saving for a special occasion, and actually just... talk. No phones, no laptops. Just us, enjoying this house we worked so hard to get."

Sarah leaned her head against his shoulder. The kitchen was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator—a peaceful, hard-won quiet.

"Pad Thai, the good Cabernet, and a digital detox," she agreed, her voice warm. "Honestly? That sounds absolutely perfect."


Mark leaned against the kitchen island, swirling the last sip of his evening coffee. "So, the tenth is exactly a month away," he said, looking over at Elena, who was chopping bell peppers for dinner.

"Our tenth anniversary," Elena mused, setting her knife down. "A whole decade. Do we want to do the stereotypical tropical getaway? I checked flights to Maui on my lunch break, and they actually aren't terrible right now."

Mark smiled but winced slightly. "Maui sounds amazing, El. But with the roof repairs coming up next month, do we really want to bring on that kind of credit card stress?"

Elena sighed, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "You're right. Honestly, just the thought of packing and dealing with airport security is already making me tired. But I don't want to just order Thai takeout and watch Netflix like it’s a random Tuesday, either."

"Agreed. What if we compromised?" Mark walked over, stealing a stray slice of red pepper from the cutting board. "Remember that little bed and breakfast up in the Catskills? The one we went to when we were first dating?"

Elena’s face brightened. "The Pine Ridge Inn? I loved that place. And it’s only a three-hour drive."

"Exactly. We take Friday off, drive up, do some hiking, and book a table at that rustic Italian place in town with the incredible risotto." Mark wrapped an arm around her waist. "No airports, no massive bills, just us."

"And no cell service on the trails," Elena added, leaning into him. "That actually sounds perfect. Let’s do it."

"I'll call them tomorrow to see if our old room is available," Mark promised.

Elena picked up her knife again, a genuine smile on her face. "Ten years. Who would have thought a quiet weekend in the mountains would sound infinitely better than Hawaii?"


The rhythmic hum of the dishwasher filled the quiet kitchen as David wiped down the granite countertops. Across the island, Elena scrolled through her tablet, a half-empty mug of peppermint tea resting beside her.

"So," Elena began, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Next month. The big ten."

David tossed the damp dish towel over the oven handle and leaned back. "I was just thinking about that on the drive home. We definitely need to do


The evening rain drummed against the kitchen window as Sarah scrolled through her laptop, a steaming mug of peppermint tea by her side. Across the granite island, David was meticulously drying the last of the dinner plates.

"So, next month," Sarah said, glancing up. "The big one-zero. Ten years. Are we actually going to plan something, or just order Thai food and fall asleep by nine like last year?"

David chuckled, draping the dish towel over the oven handle. "Hey, last year we made it to nine-thirty. But no, you're right. Ten years deserves more than Pad Kee Mao." He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "I was looking at flights to Hawaii earlier this week, but honestly? It felt exhausting just thinking about the layovers and the vacation days we'd have to burn."

Sarah nodded, a wave of genuine relief washing over her. "Thank God you said that. I was dreading a massive trip. Work has been so crazy lately, the idea of packing for a week makes me want to cry."

"Exactly," David said, walking around the island to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "So, what if we keep it closer to home? We could rent that little A-frame cabin in the Shenandoah Valley. The one with the hot tub on the deck we looked at a few years ago. Just a three-day weekend. No airports, no strict itinerary."

Sarah leaned into his side, picturing the quiet woods and the crisp Virginia mountain air. It was only a three-hour drive from their house—easy, peaceful, and exactly what they needed to reconnect.

"Shenandoah," she murmured, a smile touching her lips. "We can hike, read, and actually talk to each other without our phones buzzing."

"And," David added, kissing the top of her head, "we can still pick up Thai takeout on the drive up."

"Perfect," Sarah laughed. "I'll book it right now."


The smell of dark roast coffee drifted through the kitchen, mingling with the crisp October air slipping through the open window. Sarah leaned against the granite counter, warming her hands on her mug, while David scrolled through his tablet at the island.

"So," Sarah started, catching his eye. "Next month. Ten years."

David looked up, a soft smile breaking through his morning grogginess. "A decade. Hard to believe. Have you thought about what we’re doing? We talked about Hawaii a few years ago."

"I did look at flights," Sarah admitted, walking over to sit beside him. "But honestly? Between the kitchen remodel and the dog's vet bills, dropping five grand on a trip feels a bit stressful right now."

David sighed, though he didn't look entirely disappointed. "Yeah, you're right. Plus, dealing with airport security and a long flight doesn't exactly scream relaxation. What if we kept it local? A nice long weekend downtown at that new boutique hotel?"

"Downtown is nice, but it's so busy." Sarah traced the rim of her


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago townhouse, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and familiar. Mark sat on the rug, folding a basket of laundry, while Elena scrolled through her tablet on the sofa.

"So," Elena said, peering over her reading glasses. "Two weeks until the big one. A whole decade."

Mark tossed a folded towel into the basket and smiled. "Ten years of wedded bliss. And at least three years of arguing over whose turn it is to unload the dishwasher."

Elena laughed, setting the tablet face-down on her lap. "Seriously, though, we need a plan. I was looking at that boutique hotel in Sedona we talked about last year. The flights aren't terrible if we leave on a Thursday."

Mark hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sedona sounds amazing, El. But with the kitchen remodel starting next month... do we really want the stress and expense of flying right now?"

Elena sighed, knowing he was right. The contractor’s deposit had already taken a sizable bite out of their savings. "I guess not. But we can't just order Thai takeout and watch a movie. Ten years is a milestone."

"I totally agree," Mark said, abandoning the laundry to sit beside her on the couch. "What if we recreate our first trip together? Not the actual location, but the vibe."

"You mean the disastrous camping trip in Door County?"

"Exactly," Mark grinned. "But upgraded. We rent a really nice, secluded cabin up in Wisconsin for the weekend. Just a three-hour drive. We build a fire, drink the good wine, and leave our laptops at home. No airports, no flight delays."

Elena leaned into his shoulder, imagining the quiet crackle of a fire. "Only if we buy the exact same cheap hotdogs we cooked on sticks because you forgot the grill grate."

"Deal," Mark said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Elena dried the last coffee mug. Across the granite island, David was scrolling through his phone, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"So," Elena started, draping the damp dish towel over the oven handle. "Next month. Ten years."

David looked up, his expression softening instantly. "I know. The big one. I was actually just looking at flights to Hawaii."

Elena leaned against the counter, smiling but shaking her head slightly. "Hawaii sounds amazing, Dave, but with the roof repairs we just paid for... maybe we should keep it a little closer to home?"

"Fair point," he conceded, setting the phone face-down on the counter. "I just want it to be special. Ten years is a long time to put up with me."

"It is," she teased, walking around the island to sit beside him. "But I'm not looking for a grand, expensive gesture. What if we drove up the coast? We could rent a cabin in Big Sur for the weekend. No cell service, just us, the redwoods, and a really good bottle of wine."

David thought about it, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Like we did for our first anniversary. Before the mortgage, the promotions, and the dog."

"Exactly," Elena said, bumping her shoulder against his. "We can leave Buster with my sister. We'll hike, build a fire, and actually talk to each other without staring at our screens."

David reached over, covering her hand with his warm palm. "I love that idea. I'll start looking for cabins tonight. But," he added, raising a finger, "I'm still taking you out for a massive dinner at that seafood place on the cliffs."

"Deal," Elena laughed. "I wouldn't let you out of that anyway."


Sarah wiped down the granite countertop, the steady hum of the dishwasher settling comfortably over the kitchen. Mark sat at the center island, scrolling through his phone with a half-empty mug of chamomile tea in front of him. Outside their window, the Ohio suburbs were quiet in the crisp autumn dusk.

"So," Sarah said, tossing the damp dish towel over the oven handle. "Next month. Ten years."

Mark looked up, a soft smile breaking through his evening fatigue. "A whole decade. Hard to believe." He set his phone face down. "I was actually just looking at flights to Hawaii. Or maybe a long weekend in Napa? I feel like we should do something big."

Sarah leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "I love the idea of a trip, I really do. But between your new role at the firm and my grant project at the clinic, just thinking about airports and strict itineraries makes me tired." She paused, watching his reaction carefully. "Is it terrible if I just want to be here?"

Mark chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Not terrible at all. Honestly, a five-hour flight sounds pretty exhausting to me, too. I just thought we were supposed to do the traditional grand gesture for the tenth."

"What if our grand gesture is just uninterrupted time?" Sarah suggested, walking over to pull up a stool beside him. "We take Friday and Monday off. We order takeout from Luigi's—the same place we ate out of boxes on the floor after we closed on this house. We open that expensive Cabernet we’ve been saving, and we just exist together. No work emails. No yard work."

Mark’s smile widened, reaching his eyes. He reached across the cool stone island, his hand covering hers. "A four-day staycation. Just us, good pasta, and nowhere to be. It’s a date."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Sarah refilled her coffee mug. She leaned back against the quartz counter, watching her husband, David, scroll through the morning news at the island.

"You know," Sarah said, blowing steam from her cup, "next month is ten years. We should probably figure out what we’re doing before all the good Airbnbs or flights are completely booked."

David looked up, turning off his phone screen. "A decade. It still sounds wild when you say it out loud." He ran a hand through his slightly graying hair. "I was actually thinking about that yesterday on my drive home. Do we want to do the big Hawaii trip we always talked about? Or keep it closer to home?"

Sarah sighed, walking over to pull up a stool next to him. "Hawaii sounds amazing in theory, but with the roof repairs coming up and the kids' summer camps... I honestly don't know if I have the mental bandwidth for a massive trip right now."

"Fair enough," David said, nodding in agreement. "To be honest, the thought of an eleven-hour flight isn't exactly thrilling to me right now either. What if we did something quieter? Just the two of us, no strict schedules, no rushing."

"Like the Berkshires?" Sarah asked, her eyes brightening. "We haven't been since our first anniversary."

David smiled. "Exactly like the Berkshires. We could rent a cabin, build a fire, and spend three days doing absolutely nothing but reading, hiking, and drinking good wine."

"And eating actual adult dinners without cutting anyone else's meat," Sarah added with a laugh.

"It's a date," David said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I'll start looking at cabins today. Happy early ten years, Sarah."

"Happy ten years," she smiled, feeling the familiar, steady warmth of the life they had built together.


Morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen blinds, warming the hardwood floor where Sarah stood waiting for the coffee to brew. Mark sat at the island, scrolling through his phone with a half-eaten piece of toast in his hand.

"So," Sarah said, leaning against the counter. "October 12th. It’s exactly a month away."

Mark looked up, a soft smile breaking through his morning grogginess. "Ten years. Hard to believe. Did you still want to do that bed and breakfast in Vermont? I looked it up last night—they actually have availability."

Sarah poured the coffee, sliding a steaming mug toward him. "I thought about it. The fall foliage would be beautiful. But honestly, between the dog needing a sitter and the kitchen remodel we just paid for... does a big weekend trip feel a little exhausting to you?"

Mark chuckled, taking a careful sip of his coffee. "A little, yeah. Honestly, I’d be just as happy staying here. But it’s a major milestone. I don’t want us to just order takeout and fall asleep watching Netflix like it's a regular Tuesday."

"Agreed," Sarah said, pulling out a stool next to him. "What if we compromise? We both take that Friday off work. We can drive up the coast, go to that fancy seafood place in Monterey where we had our first anniversary, and just spend the whole day together. No overnight bags, no boarding the dog."

Mark set his phone face-down, giving her his full attention. "A long day trip. Just us, the ocean, and severely overpriced crab cakes."

"Exactly."

"I love it," Mark said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I'll put in for the PTO on Monday."

Sarah smiled, looking around their slightly cluttered, perfectly normal kitchen. "Ten years," she murmured. "I think we're doing pretty well."


The morning sun slanted through the kitchen blinds, warming the worn oak table where Elena and David sat with their Sunday coffee. Between them lay a glossy travel brochure Elena had picked up at the local grocery store.

"Ten years," David said, shaking his head. He traced the rim of his ceramic mug. "A whole decade. We should probably do a little more than order our usual Thai takeout this time."

Elena laughed, leaning back in her chair. "I love our Thai takeout tradition. But yes, I agree. I grabbed this brochure for Hawaii, but honestly? Just looking at the flight times makes my back ache."

David picked up the pamphlet, flipping through pictures of pristine beaches and luxury resorts. "We could do a long weekend somewhere. Leave the kids with your parents?"

"My mom already offered," Elena said. "But a big trip feels like so much pressure. What if we just rented a cabin up in the Berkshires? It's only a three-hour drive from here, and it’s right near where we went for our first weekend away."

David looked up, a soft smile breaking through his morning grogginess. "You mean near that little diner with the terrible coffee and the amazing blueberry pancakes?"

"Exactly," Elena said. "We can actually relax. No strict itineraries, no rushing to airport gates. Just us, a couple of good books, and a nice dinner out in town on the actual anniversary."

David reached across the table, taking her hand. His thumb brushed over her simple gold wedding band. "I love that idea. We can finally open that expensive bottle of wine we’ve been saving since year five."

"It's a plan," Elena smiled, pulling the Hawaii brochure toward her and dropping it into the recycling bin. "Ten years down. Here's to keeping things simple."


Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating the steam rising from Sarah’s coffee mug. She tapped her pen against the floral wall calendar, letting out a soft sigh.

"Can you believe it's going to be ten years next month?" she asked, glancing across the granite island at her husband.

Mark looked up from his tablet, a slow, affectionate smile spreading across his face. "Ten years. A whole decade of enduring my terrible cooking and your freezing cold feet." He closed his screen and gave her his full attention. "We need to do something big. What do you think? A week in Napa? Or we could finally take that trip to Italy we talked about before we bought this house."

Sarah smiled, deeply tempted by the thought of Tuscan vineyards, but she shook her head slightly. "Italy sounds amazing, Mark. But with the kitchen renovation starting soon and having to board the dogs... planning an international trip just feels a little overwhelming right now."

"Fair point," Mark conceded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the counter. "So, what’s the alternative? We can't just do our usual anniversary dinner at The Oak Room. Ten years deserves more than a standard steak."

"What if we went back to the Blue Ridge Mountains?" Sarah suggested, her eyes brightening as she traced the rim of her ceramic mug. "We could rent a secluded cabin near Asheville, just like we did on our honeymoon. No flights, no massive itinerary. Just us, the autumn hiking trails, and a really nice bottle of champagne."

Mark considered it, picturing the quiet woods and a crackling fireplace. It felt exactly like them—intimate and free from the frantic pace of their daily suburban lives. "A cabin," he repeated, the idea settling warmly between them. "I love that. We can unplug completely. I'll put in for Friday and Monday off."

"Perfect," Sarah said, circling the date on the calendar with a thick layer of red ink. "I'll start looking at rentals tonight."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, but inside, the smell of freshly brewed coffee made the suburban Ohio house feel warm and insulated. Sarah sat at the quartz island, her laptop open, while David scrambled eggs at the stove.

"So," David said, tapping his spatula against the rim of the pan. "Two weeks until the big one. A decade. Are we doing the fancy downtown dinner, or what?"

Sarah looked up from her screen, adjusting her glasses. "I was actually just looking at that new French place. But honest to God, David, reading their seven-course tasting menu just makes me feel tired."

David chuckled, sliding the eggs onto two plates. "Too many forks?"

"Too many foams," she corrected, accepting a plate from him. "I know ten years is a milestone, and we're supposed to do something grand. A weekend in Chicago, maybe. But part of me just wants to be comfortable."

David sat beside her, passing her a mug of dark roast. "We spent our first anniversary eating takeout Thai food on a mattress on the floor because the movers were late. It wasn't exactly a five-star experience."

"But it was perfect," Sarah said softly, the memory bringing a smile to her face. She took a sip of her coffee. "What if we recreate that? Not the mattress on the floor—my lower back can't take that anymore. But we get Pad Thai from the place on Elm Street, open that nice bottle of Cabernet we brought back from Napa, and actually just spend time together. No loud restaurants. No dressing up."

David’s face broke into a warm, crinkling smile. "Ten years, and you still know exactly what I want. Pad Thai and my wife in sweatpants. It's a date."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as David scraped the last of the dinner plates into the sink. Behind him, Elena sat at the quartz island, nursing a mug of peppermint tea and scrolling through her phone.

"Can you believe it's going to be ten years next month?" she asked, looking up.

David dried his hands on a dish towel and leaned against the counter. "A whole decade. We survived our twenties and a starter home with terrible plumbing. I think that deserves a medal."

Elena chuckled. "Or at least a decent vacation. I was looking at flights to Hawaii, but honestly? The thought of a long flight and the stress of packing just makes me tired."

"I'm with you," David agreed, pulling out the stool next to hers and sitting down. "Between my project launch and your new role at the clinic, we’re both running on fumes. What if we do something a little closer to home?"

"Like the Berkshires?" Elena’s eyes brightened. "We haven't been up to Western Mass since before we got married."

David nodded, warming to the idea. "Exactly. We can rent one of those secluded cabins with a fireplace. No airport security lines, no strict itineraries. Just us, some good wine, and maybe a hike if we're feeling ambitious."

Elena reached out, her fingers naturally finding his. "I actually love that. We could even stop at that little antique shop we loved in Great Barrington."

"And eat our weight in cider donuts," David added, squeezing her hand.

"Deal," she smiled, pulling her laptop toward her. "Let's see what’s available for the second weekend in October."

As she started typing, David felt a quiet wave of contentment. Ten years in, they didn't need a grand, exhausting gesture. They just needed each other, a little peace, and the shared history that made their life together so good.


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, blurring the familiar view of their suburban Ohio street. Sarah wrapped both hands around her steaming coffee mug, leaning against the granite counter as the smell of roasting spices filled the room.

"So," she said, watching Mark rhythmically chop bell peppers. "Next month. The big one-zero."

Mark paused, his chef's knife hovering over the wooden cutting board. He looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Ten years. We should probably do a little more than our usual Thai takeout and a streaming movie, huh?"

"I'd certainly hope so," Sarah laughed, taking a sip of her coffee. "I was thinking about it on the commute home. What if we actually took a real week off? Just the two of us."

Mark scraped the bright red peppers into a prep bowl. "I was actually looking at flights to Maui on my lunch break. We always said we'd go back to the beach for our tenth."

Sarah chewed her lower lip. "Hawaii sounds incredible, Mark. But honestly? Thinking about a twelve-hour flight, the time change, and planning a whole itinerary makes my chest tight. Work has been so exhausting lately."

"Fair point," Mark said, wiping his hands on a striped dish towel. He walked over, gently bumping his shoulder against hers. "You want low-stress. What if we just rent that A-frame cabin up in the Adirondacks? The one near the lake where we went for our first anniversary."

Sarah’s eyes brightened instantly. "No Wi-Fi. Just the stone fireplace, crisp autumn air, and those terrible vintage board games."

"Exactly," Mark agreed, wrapping his arm around her waist. "And we can stop at that little roadside diner for cherry pie."

"It’s perfect," she smiled. "Book it."


The morning sun slanted through the blinds of their Chicago townhouse, illuminating the steam rising from Mark’s coffee. Across the granite kitchen island, Elena tapped the screen of her iPad, sighing softly as she scrolled.

"Ten years next month," she said, looking up to meet his eyes. "I feel like we should do something really special. A decade is a huge milestone."

Mark took a slow sip of his dark roast, leaning against the counter. "Special like the Hawaii trip we used to talk about, or special like a massive backyard party?"

"Well, I was actually looking at flights to Honolulu," Elena admitted, turning the screen so he could see the exorbitant prices. "But with the roof needing repairs this fall, dropping that kind of money right now feels a little irresponsible."

Mark nodded in agreement, setting his mug down. He walked around the island and stood beside her, wrapping a warm arm around her shoulders. "We could still travel, just maybe not across the Pacific. What about a long weekend in Asheville? We could rent a quiet cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Just the two of us, some good wine, and absolutely no cell service."

Elena leaned into his side, letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "I actually love that idea. No catering to fifty party guests, no terrible jet lag. Just us."

"Exactly," Mark said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "We can hike that same trail where I almost dropped the ring in the dirt."

Elena laughed, the memory of his clumsy, nervous proposal bringing a sudden, fond flush to her cheeks. "You practically threw the box at me."

"Hey, it worked," he smiled. "A cabin, a hike, and a quiet dinner downtown. What do you say?"

"It sounds perfect," Elena murmured, closing the expensive flight tabs. "Let's book it."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their suburban Ohio home, but inside, the room smelled of roasting garlic and quiet warmth. Sarah leaned over the granite island, staring absently at the calendar pinned to the side of the fridge.

"Can you believe it's exactly a month away?" she asked, tracing the thick red circle she had drawn around the fifteenth.

Mark looked up from the stove, wiping his hands on a striped dish towel. "Ten years," he said, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face. "A whole decade. I feel like we should do something really big to celebrate. What do you think about finally taking that trip to Napa we’ve been talking about since we closed on this house?"

Sarah sighed, though her eyes were fond. "I’d love to, Mark, I really would. But with my software project launching next month, getting a full week off is going to be a logistical nightmare. Plus, we'd have to find someone reliable to watch Buster." At the sound of his name, the aging golden retriever thumped his tail heavily against the hardwood floor


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Elena dried the last of the dinner plates. Beside her, David was wiping down the granite countertops, a familiar post-dinner choreography they’d perfected over the last decade.

"So," David said, tossing the sponge into the sink. "Next month. The big one-oh. We still haven't made an actual plan."

Elena leaned back against the counter, folding the dish towel. "I know. My mom texted again today, asking if we’re going to Hawaii. I think she just really wants an excuse to dog-sit Buster for a week."

David chuckled, pulling out two mugs for tea. "Hawaii sounds incredible, but honestly? Between the recent roof repairs and my new project at work, the thought of a twelve-hour flight sounds more exhausting than romantic right now."

"Thank God you said that," Elena sighed, her shoulders dropping in genuine relief. "I was looking at flights yesterday and got completely overwhelmed. I just want to actually spend time with you, not manage a tropical itinerary."

"Exactly." David poured the hot water, sliding a mug toward her. "What if we just disappeared closer to home? We could rent that little A-frame cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The one with no Wi-Fi."

Elena smiled, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. "No Wi-Fi, just a fireplace and a stack of books?"

"And a ridiculous amount of expensive wine and cheese," David added. "We can take the money we’d spend on airfare and just splurge on the good stuff. We could even stop by that little Italian place we went to on our first anniversary on the drive up."

"A cabin in the woods with you." Elena reached out, squeezing his hand. "It’s perfect. I'll book it tonight."


Rain tapped against the kitchen window as David poured a second cup of coffee, sliding the mug across the granite island to Elena.

"So," David said, leaning against the sink. "Three weeks until the big one. A whole decade."

Elena looked up from her tablet, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. "I know. Ten years. It feels like we should do something massive, right? My coworker just went to Maui for her fifth."

David chuckled, taking a sip of his own coffee. "Maui sounds amazing, but with the roof repairs last month, our 'massive' budget is looking a little slim. Plus, finding someone to watch Buster for a whole week is a tall order."

As if on cue, Buster, their aging golden retriever, thumped his tail against the hardwood floor at the sound of his name.

Elena smiled, leaning down to scratch the dog behind the ears. "You’re right. Honestly, the thought of navigating airports and packing just makes me tired anyway. What if we kept it closer to home?"

"Define closer. Like, the fancy Italian place downtown?"

"Maybe a step up from that," Elena mused. "Do you remember that bed and breakfast we went to in the Berkshires when we were dating? The one with the wood-burning fireplaces?"

David’s eyes lit up. "The one where it snowed us in for a day and all we ate was wine and local cheese?"

"Exactly that one. It’s only a three-hour drive. We could take a long weekend, unplug completely, and just be together. No home repairs, no alarm clocks."

"And Mrs. Higgins next door loves watching Buster," David added, nodding slowly. He reached over the counter and squeezed her hand. "A quiet weekend in the mountains. I’ll call them today and see if our old room is available."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of Sarah and David’s Ohio home, blurring the view of their damp suburban lawn. Sarah took a slow sip of her dark roast, leaning against the granite counter. "So, next month," she began, catching her husband's eye. "The big one-oh."

David looked up from his laptop, pulling off his reading glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Ten years. Hard to believe." He smiled warmly. "Were you still thinking about that trip to Napa?"

Sarah sighed, tracing the ceramic rim of her mug. "I was, but honestly? Between paying for the new water heater and work being so crazy lately, a cross-country flight sounds more exhausting than romantic right now."

David nodded slowly, shutting the laptop. "I get that completely. I was actually going to suggest renting a cabin up in the Hocking Hills. Just a long weekend. We could pack up the car, take the dog, hike during the day, and actually hear ourselves think."

"No cell service?" Sarah asked, one eyebrow raised in mild suspicion.

"Spotty at best," David confirmed. "We could cook dinner together. Maybe try to recreate that terrible mushroom risotto from our first anniversary."

Sarah laughed out loud, the memory of crunchy rice and burnt garlic flooding back. "Oh God, it was practically inedible. We ended up ordering Domino's at ten p.m."

"Exactly. We can buy a frozen pizza as a backup." He stood, walking over to wrap an arm around her waist. "I just want it to be us. No stress, no strict itineraries."

Sarah leaned her head against his shoulder. The idea of a quiet, woodsy cabin, far from their daily suburban hum, felt perfectly right. "A cabin, the dog, and a backup pizza. It’s a date. But," she added, looking up at him, "we are definitely springing for the expensive wine."

"Deal," David said, kissing the top of her head.


Rain tapped against the kitchen window as Mark refilled the coffee maker. At the island counter, Elena was scrolling through her tablet, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

"So," Mark said, leaning against the counter. "Tenth anniversary next month. Are we actually going to make a decision, or just panic two days before like last year?"

Elena chuckled, finally looking up. "I vote against panic. But I also vote against that massive Hawaii trip we talked about in January. Honestly? The thought of a long flight, navigating rental cars, and packing right now just makes me tired."

"Agreed," Mark said, looking visibly relieved. Work had been brutal for both of them lately. "But it’s a decade. We can’t just do our usual Tuesday night dinner at the Italian place down the street. We need some sort of milestone memory."

Elena set her tablet down and tapped her chin. "What if we rented a cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains? Just for a long weekend. No airports, no rigid itineraries. Just us, a fireplace, and maybe a couple of bottles of that wine we bought in Napa on our honeymoon."

Mark smiled, picturing it. It was a three-hour drive from their house in Charlotte—easy enough to manage, but far enough to feel like a real escape. "I like that," he said. "We could hike if we actually feel energetic, or just sit on the porch and do absolutely nothing."

"Exactly," Elena said, her eyes brightening as she opened a new browser tab. "I’ll look up some places today. Do you have a preference for the view?"

"As long as there's a hot tub and decent coffee nearby, I’m sold."

"Deal," Elena said, lifting her mug. "Ten years, and you’re still an easy catch."


Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window of their Denver home, catching the steam rising from two ceramic mugs. Sarah sat at the island, scrolling thoughtfully through her iPad, while Mark leaned against the counter, waiting for the toaster to pop.

"Ten years next month," Sarah murmured, finally locking the screen. "A whole decade."

Mark turned, handing her a mug of dark roast coffee. "I haven't forgotten. Have you thought about what we should do to celebrate?"

Sarah sighed, wrapping both hands around the warm clay. "I looked at flights to Maui, but honestly? Between finding a reliable dog sitter for Buster, coordinating our time off work, and the sheer cost, it feels exhausting just thinking about it."

Mark nodded in agreement, pulling out a stool beside her. "I was feeling the same way, honestly. We don't need a massive, stressful trip to make it special. What if we kept it local?"

"Like a staycation?" Sarah asked, taking a careful sip.

"Exactly. We could book a weekend at that historic boutique hotel downtown. You know, the one right around the corner from the little Italian place where we had our first date."

Sarah’s eyes lit up. "Trattoria Stella? Is that even still open?"

"I checked their website yesterday. It is, and they still take reservations for the quiet corner booth," Mark said, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Sarah reached across the granite countertop, resting her hand gently over his. "A really good dinner, a beautiful hotel room without a basket of unfolded laundry staring at us, and sleeping in. That actually sounds perfect."

"And maybe a hike at Red Rocks the next morning?" Mark suggested.

Sarah squeezed his fingers. "It's exactly us. Book it."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Mark dried the last dinner plate, sliding it into the cupboard. At the kitchen island, Elena was scrolling through her tablet, a half-empty mug of peppermint tea resting beside her.

"So," Elena said, not looking up from the screen. "October 12th is exactly a month away. Ten years."

Mark draped the damp dish towel over the oven handle and leaned against the counter. "The big one-oh. Have you looked at those flights to Hawaii?"

Elena sighed, finally setting the tablet down. "I did. But honestly? Between the kids' soccer schedules and my upcoming project launch, the idea of a ten-hour flight and adjusting to a massive time difference sounds more exhausting than romantic right now."

Mark chuckled softly, walking over to pull out a stool next to her. "I was kind of thinking the exact same thing today. I mean, I'd love a beach, but I'd rather actually relax. We don't have to prove anything to anyone with a massive, expensive trip."

"Exactly," Elena smiled, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. "What if we kept it local? We could book a long weekend at that cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Just the two of us, a couple of good books, and absolutely zero cell service."

Mark’s eyes lit up. "And we can finally open that bottle of wine we brought back from Napa on our honeymoon. It’s been gathering dust in the basement long enough."

"Cabin in the mountains, good wine, no Wi-Fi," Elena mused, her smile widening. "It sounds perfect."

"I'll call my mom tomorrow to see if she can take the kids," Mark said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Happy early anniversary, El."

"Happy early anniversary," she murmured, feeling the comforting, quiet weight of a decade well spent.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their suburban Ohio home, blurring the edges of the quiet Sunday morning. Mark looked up from his tablet, sliding a ceramic mug closer to the edge of the island so Elena could pour the coffee.

"So," Mark said, his voice still carrying the slight rasp of sleep. "August is creeping up. Ten years, El. A whole decade."

Elena set the glass carafe back on the warming plate and leaned against the granite counter, smiling softly. "I know. I was looking at some of our old wedding photos on my phone the other day. We looked like absolute babies."

"Babies who didn't have a mortgage," Mark chuckled. "How do you want to celebrate? I know we originally talked about going back to Oahu, but..."

"But the unexpected furnace replacement ate the Oahu fund," Elena finished for him, bringing her mug to the table and sitting across from him. "Honestly? I don't even want to deal with airport security right now. Work has been so exhausting lately."

Mark nodded slowly, tracing the rim of his coffee cup. "Fair point. We could throw a big party in the backyard? Invite the neighborhood, cater some barbecue, pretend we're twenty-five again?"

Elena laughed, shaking her head. "Absolutely not. I want to spend it with you, not managing a buffet line for thirty people." She paused, her eyes brightening. "What if we rent a cabin down in Hocking Hills? Just for three or four nights. We can hike, drink wine on a quiet porch, and actually talk to each other without setting an alarm."

Mark’s smile reached his eyes. He reached across the table, covering her hand with his. "No airports, no hosting, just us and the trees. I'll look up some rentals right now."

"Perfect," Elena said. "Happy early anniversary."


Sunlight streamed through the kitchen blinds, warming the worn oak table where Mark and Elena sat with their Sunday coffee. Between them rested a shared calendar app, glowing on Mark’s tablet.

"So, the tenth," Elena said, wrapping both hands around her mug. "It feels like we should do something bigger than our usual Italian place down the street."

Mark nodded, scrolling through the upcoming month. "Agreed. A decade is a big deal. We could look into flights to Sedona? We’ve been talking about the hiking trails out there for years."

Elena sighed, a soft, practical sound. "I’d love that, but looking at my work schedule, taking a full week off in October is going to be a nightmare with the Q4 rollout. Plus, boarding Buster for a week takes a big bite out of the budget."

"Fair point," Mark said, setting the tablet down. "We don't want to spend our anniversary stressed about work or the dog. What if we kept it closer to home, but elevated?"

Elena tilted her head, intrigued. "Like a long weekend up the coast?"

"Exactly. We could drive up to Carmel on Friday afternoon," Mark suggested, his enthusiasm building. "Get a nice bed and breakfast overlooking the water. Have one really blowout dinner, maybe do a wine tasting on Saturday. My sister can easily watch Buster for two nights."

A smile broke across Elena’s face. "That sounds perfect, actually. It’s a change of scenery, it feels incredibly special, but it won't require a logistical miracle to pull off."

"Carmel it is," Mark smiled back, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "I’ll start looking at B&Bs. You secure the blowout dinner reservation."

"Deal," Elena said, already reaching for her phone.


Rain drummed steadily against the kitchen window as Mark poured a second cup of coffee, sliding it across the granite island to his wife.

"You realize we’re exactly a month out, right?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

Sarah looked up from her laptop, adjusting her glasses. "From our tenth? Yes. And I still haven't booked anything. I was looking at flights to Maui, but the prices are astronomical right now."

"Maui sounds amazing," Mark sighed, taking a sip from his mug, "but with the HVAC replacement last month, maybe we shouldn't drain the savings just to say we went somewhere tropical."

Sarah closed her laptop, wrapping both hands around her warm coffee. "I know. Honestly, the thought of a six-hour flight and the stress of packing isn't exactly thrilling me either. I just want it to feel special. Ten years is a big deal."

"It is a big deal," Mark agreed, stepping closer and resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "What if we went back to Asheville? We haven't been since our first anniversary. We could rent one of those secluded cabins off the Blue Ridge Parkway, hike a little, and drink wine on the porch. No airports, just a four-hour drive."

Sarah’s posture softened, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "You mean the place with the outdoor hot tub and the awful floral wallpaper?"

"That's the one. Though I'm hoping they've updated the wallpaper by now."

"Let's hope not," Sarah laughed. "I love that idea, Mark. It's quiet, it's us, and we actually get to just be around each other without a strict itinerary."

"Perfect," Mark said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I’ll see if the 'Rose Room' is available. You figure out where we're stopping for barbecue on the way up."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland home as Sarah poured a second cup of coffee. She slid the warm mug across the granite island to David, who was mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

"So," Sarah said, leaning against the counter. "Tenth anniversary next month. Are we doing the big Hawaii trip we talked about, or are we being practical?"

David looked up, pausing midway through a sip. "Practical is a loaded word. It implies boring. But looking at our savings after the roof repair last month... Hawaii might be stretching it."

Sarah nodded, feeling a quiet sense of relief. She loved to travel, but the thought of coordinating flights and taking a full week off work had been quietly stressing her out. "I agree. Honestly, I just want to spend uninterrupted time with you without checking my emails."

David set his phone face-down, giving her his full attention. "What about a long weekend at Cannon Beach? We could rent one of those little cabins with a fireplace, bundle up, and just watch the ocean."

"Oh, I love that," Sarah smiled, walking over to sit beside him. "We haven't been there since we were dating. We could splurge on a really nice dinner on the actual anniversary."

"Steak and crab legs at that place by the water," David added, his eyes lighting up. "And the rest of the time, we do absolutely nothing."

"Nothing but reading, walking on the beach, and drinking wine," Sarah agreed, resting her head on his shoulder. "It feels more like us, anyway."

"Exactly." David kissed the top of her head. "I'll look at cabin rentals this afternoon. Ten years, huh? We made it."

"We did," she laughed, stealing a sip from his mug. "And I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else."