The morning sun angled through the kitchen blinds, warming the hardwood floors of their suburban Ohio home. Sarah traced the rim of her coffee mug, her eyes fixed on the floral wall calendar hanging by the fridge.

"Can you believe it's actually been ten years next month?" she asked, looking up as Mark flipped a pancake at the stove.

Mark paused, spatula in hand, and smiled. "A whole decade. Feels like we should do something bigger than our usual dinner at Antonio’s. We survived two cross-country moves, three job changes, and that disastrous DIY bathroom remodel. That deserves a real celebration."

"Exactly," Sarah agreed, leaning against the kitchen island. "I was thinking about a trip. Maybe a week in Hawaii? Or we could finally do that road trip through the Pacific Northwest we've always talked about."

Mark slid the pancakes onto a plate and brought them over. "The Pacific Northwest sounds amazing, but with my team's software launch on the fifteenth, taking a full week off might be stressful. I don't want to be nervously checking my emails while we're trying to celebrate."

Sarah nodded slowly, reaching for the maple syrup. "Fair point. What if we kept it closer to home, but made it truly unplugged? Remember that little A-frame cabin we rented in the Hocking Hills back when we were just dating?"

"The one with the woodstove and absolutely zero cell reception?" Mark’s eyes lit up as he sat down beside her. "I loved that place. We could hike Old Man's Cave, bring a couple of really good bottles of wine, and just actually talk to each other."

"Just us, the trees, and no Wi-Fi," Sarah smiled, already reaching for her laptop. "I’ll see if our weekend is available."


Rain tapped gently against the bay window of their Ohio home, framing a quiet, gray Sunday morning. Mark set his coffee mug on the coaster, looking across the kitchen island at his wife.

"So, next month," Mark began, leaning forward. "Ten years, Elena. We need to do something big. I was actually looking at flights to Maui last night."

Elena looked up from her tablet, a small smile playing on her lips. "Maui sounds incredible, but honestly? Just the thought of airports and layovers makes me tired. Work has been so chaotic lately. I don't want our anniversary to feel like a logistical project."

"Fair enough," Mark conceded, rubbing the back of his neck. "No TSA lines. But we can't just do our usual Friday night dinner at Antonio's. It's a whole decade. We survived a kitchen remodel, two career changes, and raising a puppy who ate our drywall. It deserves a real celebration."

Elena laughed, setting her tablet face down. She reached across the marble counter to cover his hand with hers. "I agree. What if we kept it closer to home, but made it truly unplugged? We could rent one of those A-frame cabins up in Hocking Hills. The ones with the outdoor hot tubs and zero cell service."

Mark’s eyes brightened. "Zero cell service means no checking your work emails."

"Exactly," Elena said. "Just us, a couple of good steaks to grill, that nice bottle of bourbon we've been saving, and absolute quiet. We can hike the trails like we did when we first started dating."

"I love the sound of that," Mark said, his thumb tracing her knuckles. "A weekend in the woods. I’ll look up the rentals right now. But," he added, pulling his laptop closer, "I’m still taking you out for a fancy dinner when we get back."

"I won't fight you on that," Elena smiled, picking up her mug.


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Ohio home, catching the steam rising from David’s coffee mug. He leaned back against the sofa cushions, scrolling idly through his phone before glancing up at the kitchen wall calendar.

"You know," David said, setting his mug on a coaster, "next month is the big ten. A whole decade of wedded bliss."

Sarah looked up from her laptop, adjusting her glasses. She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Bliss, huh? Even during the Great Plumbing Disaster of 2018?"

"Especially then. Nothing says romance like bailing water out of a basement at two in the morning," David laughed. "But seriously, we need to do something. Do you want to plan a big trip? Hawaii? Napa?"

Sarah closed her laptop, pulling her knees to her chest. "I thought about that. But honestly, the idea of dealing with airports and itineraries right now just makes me tired. Work has been so exhausting for both of us lately."

"Fair point," David said, nodding. "So, a staycation? A really expensive dinner downtown?"

"Dinner downtown sounds nice," Sarah mused, "but what if we did something a little more *us*? Remember that little A-frame cabin we rented in Hocking Hills for our first anniversary? The one with the terrible Wi-Fi and the amazing fire pit?"

David’s face lit up. "The one where we dropped the hot dogs in the dirt and just ate marshmallows for dinner? I loved that place."

"Exactly. Just two nights away. No flights, no stress, just us, the woods, and maybe some better groceries this time."

David reached over, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "A weekend off the grid sounds perfect. I'll look online and see if it's available today."


The evening light faded against the kitchen window as Elena closed her laptop, rubbing her tired eyes. Across the granite island, David was chopping vegetables for dinner, the rhythmic thud of his chef's knife filling the quiet suburban house.

"So," Elena said, leaning forward on her elbows. "Next month. The big ten."

David paused, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. "Tenth anniversary. Part of me still feels like we just finished paying off the wedding."

Elena laughed, a warm, tired sound that made him smile. "True. But we should do something real to mark it. Not just our usual steakhouse downtown."

"I was actually looking at flights to Hawaii," David admitted, sliding the chopped bell peppers into a skillet. "But honestly? With the roof repair coming up, dropping four grand feels a little irresponsible."

"I'm so glad you said that," Elena sighed in relief. "I want to celebrate us, but I don't want to spend the whole time stressing about the credit card bill. What if we kept it regional? We could drive up the coast to Maine."

David leaned against the counter, genuinely considering it. "A cabin near Acadia? We haven't been up there since we were dating."

"Exactly," she said, her eyes brightening. "No airport security, no jet lag. Just us, hiking during the day, and eating our weight in lobster by a fire at night."

"I'd actually love that," David said, reaching across the island to take her hand. "Take a long weekend. Shut our phones off. I can look for cabin rentals tonight after dinner."

"Deal," Elena said, her thumb tracing the familiar, worn edge of his gold band. "It feels perfect. Ten years, and we still know how to compromise."

"It's my greatest survival skill," he joked, turning back to the stove.


Sunlight streamed through the blinds of their Ohio kitchen, illuminating the steam rising from Mark’s dark roast coffee. Sarah traced the rim of her own ceramic mug, her gaze fixed on the floral calendar pinned to the refrigerator. Next Thursday was the twelfth. Ten years of shared mortgages, adopted rescue dogs, and quiet weekend mornings exactly like this one.

"We still haven't decided what we're doing," Sarah said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Mark set his phone face-down on the oak table and leaned back. "I was actually looking at flights to Charleston last night. We could manage a long weekend. Get an Airbnb near the historic district, eat some incredible seafood."

Sarah smiled, the idea genuinely tempting. "Charleston sounds amazing. But between the roof repairs we just paid for and the holidays creeping up, maybe a flight and a rental is pushing it right now."

Mark nodded slowly, the shared reality of homeownership grounding them both. "Fair point. We could always do the fancy steakhouse downtown. The one we went to when I got my promotion."

"We could," Sarah said, though her tone lacked urgency. She reached across the table, her fingers resting lightly over his knuckles. "Honestly? My favorite anniversary was our third. When it rained all weekend, and we just got takeout from that little Thai place and built a blanket fort in the living room."

Mark chuckled, a warm sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "We spent three hours trying to get those cheap fairy lights to stay taped to the ceiling."

"Exactly." Sarah squeezed his hand. "What if we recreated our first date instead? Drive out to the old twin drive-in theater, bring


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, blurring the glow of the suburban streetlights. Inside, Mark leaned against the granite island, drying a cast-iron skillet while his wife, Sarah, scrolled thoughtfully through her tablet.

"So," Mark began, tossing the dish towel onto the counter. "Next month. The big one-zero. We need a plan."

Sarah looked up, a soft smile breaking through her concentration. "Ten years. It’s wild, isn't it? I was actually just looking at flights to Oahu." She turned the screen to show him a list of pricey options. "But honestly, with the roof repair we just paid for, a massive Hawaiian getaway feels a little irresponsible right now."

Mark grimaced at the prices but nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that might be stretching the budget. What if we kept it local? We could go back to that Italian place downtown where we had our first date."

"We could," Sarah said, tilting her head. "But it’s our tenth. A bowl of crowded, noisy fettuccine doesn't quite feel momentous enough. I want it to be special, just the two of us, without the daily grind getting in the way."

Mark pulled out a barstool and sat across from her. "Okay, no expensive flights, no crowded restaurants. What about the Blue Ridge Mountains? We could rent one of those A-frame cabins near Asheville. Hike during the day, build a fire at night. Just completely unplug for a long weekend."

Sarah’s eyes lit up, the stress of logistics melting away. "That actually sounds perfect. We haven't been up there since we were engaged. We can even bring that bottle of cabernet we saved from our wedding."

"It’s a plan, then," Mark said, reaching across the island to squeeze her hand. "Ten years down. Here’s to a quiet weekend in the woods."


The evening rain tapped softly against the kitchen window of their Chicago suburb home as Elena dried the last dinner plate. Across the granite island, David sat with his laptop open, scrolling absently.

"So," David said, looking up over his reading glasses. "Tenth anniversary. Next month. Are we still trying to do the big Hawaii trip, or did we let the window close on booking reasonable flights?"

Elena hung the towel on the oven handle and poured them both a splash of leftover red wine. "I looked at flights yesterday. Honestly? It’s over a thousand dollars a ticket right now. Plus, taking two straight weeks off work just feels... stressful."

"I agree," David sighed, closing the laptop. "I want to celebrate us, not spend half the trip checking my phone because I'm terrified of what I'm missing at the firm."

Elena slid into the barstool next to him, passing him a glass. "What if we did something closer to home? Just a long weekend away from the house."

"Like the rented cabin in Michigan?" David asked, a nostalgic smile forming. "Where we went for our first anniversary?"

"Exactly." Elena leaned against his shoulder. "We could hike, build a fire, and actually talk to each other without worrying about an exhausting itinerary or jet lag. We can splurge on a really nice dinner in town on Saturday night to make it feel special."

David clinked his glass against hers. "I love that idea. It’s quiet, it's very 'us,' and it doesn't require a spreadsheet to plan."

"And," Elena added, her eyes crinkling with amusement, "with the money we save on flights, we can finally replace the washing machine before it completely floods the laundry room."

David laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Romance is definitely alive and well in this house. I'll book the cabin tomorrow morning."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland home as David dried the last of the dinner plates. At the kitchen island, Elena stared at her laptop, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"It's exactly three weeks away," Elena said, closing her browser tabs. "Ten years, Dave. We really should figure this out."

David draped the dish towel over the oven handle and leaned against the counter. "I was thinking about that today on the commute. Did you still want to look into those flights to Hawaii?"

Elena sighed, rubbing her temples. "I did, but honestly? Between the roof repairs and the kids' summer camp fees, dropping three grand on a trip feels stressful right now. I don't want to spend our milestone anniversary worrying about credit card points."

"Fair enough," David said, walking over to gently massage her shoulders. "What if we keep it local, but make it an actual escape? No kids, no chores, no talking about the mortgage."

Elena leaned back into his hands, a smile touching her lips. "That sounds amazing. What did you have in mind?"

"Remember that bed and breakfast in the Columbia River Gorge? The one we went to when we were just engaged?"

"The one with the horrible floral wallpaper and the incredible blueberry pancakes?" Elena laughed. "I loved that place."

"I checked their website today. The wallpaper is gone, but the pancakes are still on the menu. We could drive up Friday afternoon, hike near the falls on Saturday, and actually have a completely uninterrupted dinner."

Elena turned her chair to face him, her eyes bright. "A quiet weekend, just us. It’s perfect. Book it before they sell out."

David leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I'll do it right now. Happy early anniversary, El."


The morning sun slanted through the blinds of their suburban Ohio living room, illuminating the dust motes dancing above the coffee table. Sarah leaned back against the sofa cushions, scrolling aimlessly on her iPad.

"Can you believe it's going to be ten years next month?" she asked, glancing over at David, who was nursing his second mug of dark roast.

David lowered his phone. "A decade," he murmured, a warm smile touching his eyes. "We survived the apartment with the leaky roof, three job changes, and the great kitchen remodel of 2019. We definitely need to do something special. What were you thinking? A weekend out in Napa?"

Sarah sighed, setting the tablet down. "Napa sounds amazing, but with the kids' soccer tournament schedule and the dog needing boarding... it just feels like so much logistical gymnastics right now."

David nodded in immediate understanding. "Fair point. We want to actually relax, not manage a schedule from three time zones away. What if we kept it closer to home but elevated?"

"Elevated how?" Sarah asked, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

"Well, remember that little bed and breakfast we stayed at up in Door County right after we got engaged? The one with the wrap-around porch?" David suggested. "We could drive up Friday, just the two of us. Book a table at that Italian place by the water."

Sarah’s face brightened. "The place with the incredible garlic knots? That sounds perfect. No flights, no stress. Just us actually getting to talk to each other without a teenager interrupting."

"Exactly," David said, reaching across the sofa to squeeze her hand. "I’ll call the inn today. Ten years deserves at least a minor carbohydrate binge."

Sarah laughed, intertwining her fingers with his. "Make it a major one. It's a milestone, after all."


Mark wiped down the kitchen counter while Sarah loaded the dishwasher. "So," he said, tossing the sponge into the sink, "next month is the big ten. A whole decade."

Sarah shut the dishwasher door with a soft click. "I know. Ten years since that sweltering July afternoon in Chicago. Have you thought about what we should do?"

"I was thinking we could finally pull the trigger on that Hawaii trip," Mark said, leaning against the granite island. "We’ve got the airline miles saved up, and a tenth anniversary feels like the perfect excuse."

Sarah smiled, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Hawaii sounds amazing, Mark, it really does. But with the bathroom remodel starting next week, taking ten days off right now feels incredibly stressful. What if we saved the big island hop for next year, when the house is actually finished?"

Mark sighed, though a smile tugged at his mouth. "Fair point. The contractor would probably find a way to flood the living room while we were in Maui. So, what's the alternative?"

"What about a long weekend in Asheville?" Sarah suggested, stepping closer to him. "We can rent one of those secluded cabins with a hot tub, drive the Blue Ridge Parkway, and book a table at that farm-to-table place we went to on our honeymoon."

Mark’s face lit up. "The one with the incredible duck confit?"

"That's the one."

"Three nights in the mountains, no cell service, no contractor calls, and great food." Mark wrapped his arms around her waist. "It’s perfect. Low-stress, but still special."

Sarah rested her head against his chest. "Exactly. We can just focus on us."

"I'll look at cabin rentals tonight," he promised, kissing her forehead. "Happy almost ten years."


Sarah poured a second cup of dark roast coffee, the Saturday morning sun casting warm geometric shapes across their kitchen island. "So," she said, leaning against the marble counter. "Tenth anniversary next month. Are we doing the big backyard barbecue, or do we want to escape?"

Mark looked up from his laptop, rubbing the bridge of his nose before setting his reading glasses down. "I was just looking at flights to Chicago, actually. But honestly? The idea of coordinating a massive party exhausts me."

"Me too," Sarah agreed, exhaling a quiet sigh of relief. "We love our friends, but I don't want to spend our ten-year milestone running out to the grocery store for more ice and paper plates."

"Exactly." Mark closed the laptop, giving her his full attention. "What if we went back to Maine? Just the two of us. We could rent a cabin near Acadia, eat entirely too many lobster rolls, and actually have time to talk to each other."

Sarah smiled, tracing the rim of her ceramic mug. Their honeymoon in Bar Harbor felt like a lifetime ago—before the thirty-year mortgage, the stressful career changes, and the adoption of their golden retriever, Buster, who was currently snoring softly on the living room rug.

"A week in Maine," she mused, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Do you think we can get the time off?"

"I already checked my PTO. If you can clear it with the clinic, we're good to go."

She walked around the island and rested a comfortable hand on his shoulder. "No catering, no seating charts, just hiking boots and spotty cell service."

"And the dog," Mark added, gesturing to Buster. "I'll find a pet-friendly place."

"Deal." Sarah leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Ten years down, and you still know exactly what I want."


The morning sun slanted through the kitchen blinds, warming the worn oak table where Elena and Mark sat with their Sunday coffee. Between them rested a scatter of mail and the Sunday crossword, a quiet testament to a decade of shared life in their upstate New York home.

"So," Elena said, setting her mug down. "Next month. Ten years."

Mark looked up, a soft smile breaking through his weekend stubble. "A whole decade. Have you thought about what we should do? I know we talked about Hawaii a few years ago."

Elena sighed, tracing the rim of her mug. "I looked at flights. It’s just so expensive right now, and with the roof repairs coming up... it feels a little irresponsible. Plus, the thought of dealing with airports just stresses me out."

"Fair enough," Mark agreed, leaning back in his chair. "We don't need a massive trip to make it special. What if we kept it closer to home?"

"Like the Berkshires?" Elena asked, her eyes brightening.

"Exactly. We could rent one of those little A-frame cabins in the woods. Turn off our phones, hike a bit, maybe finally open that nice bottle of wine we’ve been saving."

Elena smiled, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Just us, a fireplace, and absolutely no Wi-Fi. That actually sounds perfect."

"And," Mark added, pointing his pen at her, "on the actual anniversary, we drive back into the city to Mario's. We can ask for the same sticky vinyl booth where we had our first date."

"Only if you order the terrible garlic knots again," she laughed.

Mark wrote *Cabin / Mario's* at the top of the crossword puzzle. "It's a plan. Happy almost-ten-years, El."

"Happy ten years," she murmured, suddenly looking forward to every bit of it.


Sunlight streamed through the kitchen blinds, warming the steam rising from Sarah’s coffee mug. Across the granite island, Mark was scrolling through the morning news, his thumb moving in a rhythmic, absentminded swipe.

"So," Sarah began, wrapping both hands around her mug. "Next month. The big one-oh. We need to figure out what we’re actually doing."

Mark looked up, setting his phone face-down on the counter. "I was just thinking about that yesterday. Ten years. It feels like we should do something massive, right? Like Hawaii, or finally taking that trip to Italy."

Sarah sighed, leaning back against the cabinets. "Italy sounds amazing, but with the kitchen remodel starting in the fall, I don’t know if I want the stress of a huge international trip right now. Or the price tag."

"Fair point," Mark said, nodding slowly. "We could do a long weekend instead. Napa? Or maybe a cabin up the coast?"

"What if we just stayed local?" Sarah asked, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Not *here* at the house, but in the city. We haven't been back to The Beacon since the night we got engaged."

Mark’s eyes lit up. "The Beacon. Do you think they still have that ridiculous truffle risotto?"

"Only one way to find out."

"Okay," Mark said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the island. "We book a room at that boutique hotel downtown, get a reservation at The Beacon, and spend the weekend actually being tourists in our own city. No chores, no running to Home Depot, no laptops."

"Exactly," Sarah agreed, reaching across the counter to cover his hand with hers. "Just us, celebrating the fact that we still actually like each other ten years later."

"I'll make the calls today," Mark smiled.


The morning sun spilled across the kitchen island as David refilled his coffee mug. Across from him, Sarah was scrolling thoughtfully on her tablet, her half-eaten bagel momentarily forgotten.

"You know," Sarah said, looking up, "we have exactly three weeks to figure out what we’re doing for our tenth."

David leaned against the counter, blowing steam from his mug. "Ten years. It feels like we should do something big. Maybe finally take that trip to Hawaii we’ve been talking about since the honeymoon?"

Sarah smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I’d love Hawaii. But realistically, with the kitchen renovation still eating into our savings, and the kids' travel soccer schedules... a week-long flight across the Pacific feels a bit stressful right now."

"Fair point," David conceded, pulling out a stool and sitting beside her. "We don't need a massive trip to make it special. What if we kept it local? We could book a long weekend at that lodge up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Just the two of us."

"No cell service, hiking, and someone else cooking dinner?" Sarah asked, her interest piqued.

"Exactly. We can ask my mom to watch the kids from Thursday to Sunday. It’ll give us actual time to talk and reconnect. Remember talking?"

Sarah laughed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "Vaguely. I think I love that idea. It’s quiet, it’s beautiful, and it won't require a second mortgage."

David tapped his mug against her coffee cup in a gentle, impromptu toast. "The mountains it is. I’ll call the lodge on my lunch break today and see if they have that cabin with the fireplace available."

"Perfect," Sarah said, finally picking up her bagel. "Happy early anniversary, babe."


Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen blinds as Elena leaned over the island, circling a date on the wall calendar with a red marker.

"Tenth anniversary, Mark. One month from today," she said, tapping the cap against the paper.

Mark looked up from the sink, drying a coffee mug with a dish towel. He leaned back against the counter, smiling. "Ten years. We should probably do something slightly more impressive than ordering our usual Thai food and falling asleep on the couch."

"Agreed," Elena laughed. "I was actually looking at flights to Maui last night."

Mark winced playfully. "Maui sounds incredible. But with the roof repair we just paid for, plus trying to get time off during my end-of-quarter rush... it might be a stretch."

Elena sighed, knowing he was right. "Yeah, I know. It’s just a big milestone. I want it to feel special."

"It will," Mark said, walking over and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "What if we keep it closer to home? We haven't been out to the Blue Ridge Mountains since before we bought this house. We could rent a cabin for a long weekend. Just the two of us, no laptops, no yard work."

Elena leaned into him, considering the idea. The mountains were only a three-hour drive from their home in Virginia. It lacked the tropical glamor of Hawaii, but the thought of a quiet, uninterrupted weekend sitting by a fire pit felt like exactly what they actually needed.

"A cabin," she mused. "With an outdoor hot tub?"

"Absolutely a hot tub. Non-negotiable," Mark confirmed.

"Okay," Elena smiled, turning to face him. "Book the cabin. But we're still getting the Thai food for the drive up."

"Deal."


The evening sun slanted through the living room blinds of their Chicago suburb home, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. Sarah curled her legs up on the sofa, scrolling lazily on her iPad.

"Mark, it's exactly a month away," she said, looking over at her husband.

Mark set his coffee mug on the coaster and lowered his book. "The big ten. A whole decade of putting up with me."

Sarah smiled, tossing a throw pillow at him. "It's a milestone. We should do something memorable this year. Not just our usual dinner at Vincenzo's, as much as I love their pasta."

"I completely agree," Mark said, leaning forward. "I was actually looking at flights. We could fly out to Napa? We’ve been talking about wine country since our honeymoon."

Sarah thought about it, tapping the edge of her tablet. "Napa sounds amazing, but with the kitchen renovation starting next week, maybe flying across the country is too much logistical stress right now. What if we kept it closer to home, but made it truly special?"

"Like what? A luxury staycation downtown?"

"Maybe a step up from a staycation," Sarah suggested. "What about a long weekend up in Door County? We could rent one of those lakeside cabins with a fireplace, hike the state parks, and just unplug. Actually talk to each other without work emails pinging."

Mark’s face softened. "Door County in the fall. That actually sounds perfect. We can still dress up and get a fancy dinner one night, maybe at that tasting menu place in Sister Bay."

"Exactly," Sarah said, her eyes brightening. "It feels more *us*, anyway."

"Cozy, quiet, and a ridiculous amount of local cherry pie," Mark laughed, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Send me the link to those cabins. Let's get it booked."


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

"So," Mark said, leaning against the counter. "Next month. Ten years."

Elena glanced up from her laptop, a soft smile breaking through her morning focus. "A whole decade. I was just looking at our calendar, actually. We should probably figure out what we’re doing."

"I was thinking about that," Mark said. "Part of me wants to suggest that trip to Napa Valley we’ve been talking about forever. It's a milestone. We should go big, right?"

Elena sighed, closing her laptop. "I would absolutely love Napa. But honestly? With the roof repair eating into our savings this spring, and both of us being so drained from work, a cross-country flight just feels exhausting to think about."

Mark nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right. I don't want to spend our anniversary stressed about money or airport security. What if we kept it a little closer to home?"

"Define closer," Elena said, her eyes lighting up slightly.

"What about that bed and breakfast up in the Blue Ridge Mountains? We drove past it a few years ago. We could hike, actually read the books piling up on our nightstands, and get a really nice dinner in town."

Elena reached across the counter, covering his hand with hers. "That sounds perfect. Quiet. Just us. And we won't have to ask my mom to watch the dogs for more than a weekend."

"Exactly," Mark smiled, turning his hand over to interlock his fingers with hers. "I’ll look up their availability today. We can still open that expensive bottle of Cabernet we’ve been saving."

"It’s a plan," Elena said. "Ten years down, and you still know exactly what I need."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Sarah refilled her coffee mug. She leaned against the granite counter, looking across the island at Mark, who was scrolling quietly through his phone.

"So," Sarah began, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic. "Next month is ten years. Have you thought about what we’re doing?"

Mark set his phone face down, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. "I have. I was actually looking at flights to Hawaii just now. But to be honest, with the roof repairs we just paid for, the airfare is a bit steep."

Sarah nodded, feeling a quiet sense of relief. A big trip sounded exhausting right now anyway. "I’d love Hawaii, but maybe we save the islands for fifteen? Honestly, I don't want to spend our anniversary stressing about credit card points and flight delays."

"Fair enough," Mark smiled, his shoulders relaxing visibly. "What did you have in mind? A nice dinner downtown? We haven't been to that French place since before we bought the house."

"Dinner is nice, but ten years feels like it needs a little more than just a good steak." Sarah walked over and sat at the stool beside him. "What if we drive up to the state park and rent a cabin? Just the two of us for a long weekend. We can hike, build a fire, and actually talk without the television on."

Mark’s eyes lit up. "Like we did the year we got engaged. I like that a lot. No airports, no itineraries, no stress. Just us."

"Exactly." She reached over, resting her hand lightly on his arm. "We can pick up some good wine on the way up, and maybe a box of those powdered donuts we used to eat on road trips."

"It's a plan," Mark said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Happy early anniversary."


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Ohio kitchen, casting warm stripes across the oak table. Mark nudged his empty coffee mug toward the center and looked up at his wife.

"So," he began, resting his chin on his hand. "Ten years. It’s exactly a month away. Have we figured out what we’re doing yet?"

Sarah paused, her thumb lingering over the screen of her phone before setting it face down. "I was actually just looking at flights to Napa. But honestly? Looking at the prices and the hassle of finding someone to watch the dogs... I’m just not sure."

Mark nodded slowly. "I feel the exact same way. A big trip sounds nice in theory, but work has been exhausting for both of us lately. Do we really want to spend our big milestone stressed out in airport security?"

"Exactly." Sarah leaned back, wrapping her sweater tighter around her shoulders. "What if we did something closer to home? We could rent a cabin up in Hocking Hills for the long weekend. Just us, the dogs, and a disturbing amount of expensive wine."

A slow smile spread across Mark’s face. "No itinerary. No crowded restaurants. We could cook steaks on the grill just like we did on our very first anniversary in that terrible apartment."

"And finally open that bottle of Cab we bought on our honeymoon," Sarah added, her eyes brightening.

"It’s a plan, then." Mark reached across the table, his fingers gently catching hers. "Cabin, dogs, wine, and steaks. Best tenth anniversary ever."

"I'll book it today," Sarah smiled, squeezing his hand. It wasn't the lavish European getaway they had vaguely daydreamed about in their twenties, but sitting there in the quiet comfort of the life they had built together, it felt exactly right.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window, blurring the suburban Ohio street outside. Mark leaned against the quartz counter, wrapping both hands around his coffee mug.

"So," he said, catching his wife’s eye across the island. "Tenth anniversary. Next month. We should probably make a plan before everything books up."

Sarah looked up from her laptop, the bright screen reflecting in her glasses. She smiled and shut the lid. "I was just looking at flights, actually. Part of me wants to do something huge. Napa? Hawaii? But then I look at the logistics and the PTO..."

"And the dog sitter," Mark added with a soft chuckle. "Buster's getting too old to be boarded for a whole week."

"Exactly." Sarah sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "I want it to feel like a real milestone, but I don't want to spend half the time exhausted from airports and packing."

Mark walked around the kitchen island and pulled out a stool next to her. "What if we kept it closer to home? Do you remember that little A-frame cabin we rented in the Hocking Hills right after we got engaged?"

Sarah’s face lit up. "The one with the terrible plumbing but the amazing fire pit?"

"That's the one," Mark said. "I looked it up yesterday. They actually renovated the bathroom last year. We could take Buster, hike during the day, and just... actually talk to each other. We can finally open that expensive bottle of Cabernet we’ve been saving."

Sarah leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder. The tension visibly left her posture. "No airports. No rigid itineraries. Just us and the woods."

"And working plumbing," Mark reminded her.

She laughed, pulling her laptop back open. "Send me the link. Let's book it."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Ohio craftsman as Mark dried the last dinner plate. He set it in the cupboard and turned to his wife.

"So, a month out," Mark said, leaning against the counter. "Ten years. Are we doing this big trip to Hawaii, or what?"

Sarah looked up from her laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her tired but affectionate smile. "I looked at flights today. Honestly, Mark? Just the thought of coordinating PTO, booking hotels, and navigating airports makes me want to take a nap."

Mark chuckled, crossing the room to pour them both a mug of tea. "I'm relieved to hear you say that. As much as I want to celebrate, a huge production feels exhausting right now."

"Exactly," Sarah said, accepting the mug. "But ten years is a milestone. We can't just do our usual Friday night pizza and a movie."

"Agreed. What if we kept it local, but made it intentional?" Mark pulled out a chair and sat across from her. "We haven't been up to Hocking Hills since the weekend I proposed."

Sarah’s eyes lit up, the fatigue of the workday melting away. "A cabin weekend? Just the two of us, a fireplace, and the trails?"

"We could leave Friday afternoon. Hike Saturday. And instead of stressing over a fancy reservation, we pick up a ridiculous amount of takeout from that sushi place in Columbus on the way down."

Sarah closed her laptop, her decision made. "Hiking boots, spicy tuna rolls, and zero cell service. It’s perfectly us."

Mark reached across the oak table, his fingers finding hers. "I’ll book the cabin tomorrow. Happy almost ten years, Sarah."

"Happy almost ten years," she replied, squeezing his hand. It wasn't the tropical getaway they had vaguely imagined in their twenties, but to her, it sounded exactly like heaven.


Sunlight streamed through the kitchen blinds of their Ohio home, warming the hardwood floor where their golden retriever slept. David leaned against the counter, swirling the last of his dark roast coffee.

"So," he said, looking over at Sarah, who was casually scrolling through her tablet at the kitchen island. "Our tenth anniversary. It's exactly a month away. We need a plan."

Sarah set her tablet down, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips. "I know. A whole decade. Honestly, it feels like we should do something a little bigger than our usual steak dinner downtown, don't you think?"

"I was thinking the exact same thing," David agreed, pulling up a wooden stool next to her. "We could throw a party. Invite the old bridal party, maybe rent out the patio at that new brewery on Fourth Street?"

Sarah wrinkled her nose slightly, a familiar habit David had always found endearing. "A party sounds exhausting, honestly. The logistics alone... I'd rather spend the time with just you. What if we took a long weekend instead? We could rent a secluded cabin down in the Blue Ridge Mountains."

David considered it, tapping his ceramic mug against the granite countertop. "The fall foliage will be peaking. We could hike, maybe actually unplug for a few days." He smiled, warming to the idea. "But only if we still get to have a ridiculously expensive dinner one of those nights."

"Deal," Sarah laughed, her eyes crinkling. "We can drive down Thursday right after work. I’ll look at cabin rentals this afternoon."

"Let's try to find one with a fire pit," David added, reaching over to affectionately


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as David dried the last of the dinner plates. Across the granite island, Elena was scrolling through her calendar, her brow slightly furrowed.

"It's exactly three weeks away," Elena said, finally looking up. "Ten years. We should probably figure out what we're actually doing."

David draped the dish towel over the oven handle and leaned against the counter. "I was thinking about that on the drive home. We could do that expensive tasting menu downtown. Or, if we can get your mom to watch the kids for a long weekend, we could fly out to Napa."

Elena sighed, setting her phone down. "Napa sounds amazing, but honestly? Just the thought of airport security and packing makes me tired. Work has been so chaotic lately, I think I'd spend the first two days just trying to decompress."

"Fair enough," David said, walking around the island to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "No airports. What if we just unplug? We haven't been back to that little A-frame cabin in the Berkshires since before Tommy was born."

Elena leaned into him, a soft smile replacing her frown. "The one with the finicky water heater but the amazing stone fireplace?"

"That's the one. We can bring decent wine, cook together, and actually finish a conversation without someone yelling about algebra homework."

"I would absolutely love that," Elena said, looking up at him. "Are you sure it's special enough for a tenth anniversary, though? I don't want you to feel like we're shortchanging ourselves."

David kissed the top of her head. "Spending two uninterrupted days with you in the woods sounds like the ultimate luxury right now. I'll check if it's available."

"Okay," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist. "But I'm picking the wine this time."


Rain drummed against the kitchen window of their suburban Ohio home, blurring the view of the budding oak trees outside. At the granite island, Sarah scrolled idly through her phone, a half-empty mug of black coffee by her hand.

"It’s exactly a month away," she said, looking up as her husband, David, walked into the kitchen. "The big one-oh."

David paused, opening the fridge to grab the milk. "Hard to believe it's been ten years. Have you thought about what we should do to celebrate?"

"I looked at flights to Maui," Sarah admitted, leaning her chin on her hand. "But honestly? With the kitchen renovation just finishing up and work being so busy, a long flight and a massive time change sounds exhausting right now."

David poured milk into his coffee and took the stool across from her. "I’m relieved you said that. The quarterly reports have me drained. A twelve-hour travel day doesn't exactly scream romantic relaxation."

"So what then?" Sarah asked. "A fancy dinner downtown? We could try to get a reservation at that new French place."

David took a slow sip of his coffee, thinking. "What about that cabin we rented in Asheville for our first anniversary? We could drop the dog at your mom's, drive down Friday morning, and just unplug. Hike a little, drink wine on the porch. Just the two of us."

Sarah’s posture softened, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "No airports. No rigid itineraries. Just the Blue Ridge Mountains and some actual quiet."

"Exactly," David said, reaching across the island to cover her hand with his. "I’ll check online today to see if that specific property is still available. If not, we’ll find something similar."

"I love it," Sarah said, squeezing his fingers. "Ten years down, and you still know exactly what I need."


The late evening light filtered through the blinds of their suburban Ohio kitchen as Sarah dried the last of the dinner plates. Mark was wiping down the granite countertops, a rhythmic, familiar domestic dance they’d perfected over the last decade.

"So," Mark said, pausing to toss the sponge into the sink. "Next month. Ten years."

Sarah leaned against the counter, smiling softly. "A whole decade. Have we decided what we’re actually doing? My mom keeps asking if we're renewing our vows or throwing a huge backyard party."

Mark groaned good-naturedly. "Please, no huge parties. The wedding was exhausting enough, and I don't want to spend our anniversary stressing over catering."

"Agreed," Sarah laughed. "But we should do *something* special. We talked about Hawaii a few years ago, but honestly, taking a week off work and dealing with airports right now sounds like the opposite of a celebration."

Mark walked over, wrapping an arm around her waist. "What if we just focus on us? No stress, no crazy itineraries."

"Like a staycation?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because if we stay here, I know we'll just end up cleaning out the garage."

"Fair point," Mark conceded. "What about that cabin rental down in Hocking Hills? We could hike, build a fire, and actually open that bottle of wine we bought in Napa on our honeymoon."

Sarah’s eyes brightened. It was practical, but deeply romantic. It required only a two-hour drive, yet offered total isolation from the relentless pace of their daily lives.

"A cabin," she said, testing the word. "Just the two of us, a fireplace, and a ten-year-old bottle of Cabernet."

"And absolutely no garage to clean," Mark added.

Sarah turned to kiss his cheek. "It sounds perfect. Book it before I let my mother convince us to host a dinner party."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Mark poured a second cup of dark roast, sliding it across the granite island to his wife.

"Thank you," Elena murmured, not looking up from her tablet. "So, the fifteenth is exactly a month away. Ten years."

Mark leaned against the counter, wrapping both hands around his warm mug. "A whole decade. We should probably do something a little bigger than our usual dinner at Antonio's."

Elena smiled, finally glancing up. "I actually looked into flights to Hawaii, like we talked about last year. But honestly? The thought of a twelve-hour travel day and the time difference makes me tired just thinking about it."

"Agreed," Mark nodded, relieved. "Plus, with the kitchen renovation starting next month, maybe we keep it a bit closer to home. What if we just drove up the coast?"

"To Carmel?"

"Yeah. We haven't been back since our honeymoon," Mark said. "We could try to book that same little bed and breakfast. The one with the squeaky floorboards and those amazing blueberry scones."

Elena set her tablet down, a genuine warmth spreading across her face. "I would actually love that. Just the two of us, no chaotic airports, no frantic itineraries. Just walking on the beach, browsing the art galleries, and eating way too much seafood."

"And wine," Mark added, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I'll see if the inn has an ocean-view room available for that weekend. Three nights?"

"Make it four," Elena said, reaching across the counter to squeeze his hand. "It’s ten years, after all. We deserve an extra day of doing absolutely nothing together."

Mark smiled, already tapping the screen. "Four nights of nothing, coming right up."


Morning sunlight spilled across the kitchen island, illuminating the scattered Sunday crossword and two mugs of coffee. Sarah tapped her pen against the planner lying open between them.

"It’s three weeks away, Mark. We can't just let ten years slip by with our usual Friday night takeout."

Mark looked up from his tablet, pulling his reading glasses down his nose. "I didn't say we should do takeout. I just said a week in Hawaii might be a stretch right now, especially with the roof needing those repairs."

Sarah sighed, leaning back against the cool granite counter. "I know, Hawaii is out. But a decade is a milestone. I want it to feel special."

"It is a big deal," Mark agreed softly. He set the tablet aside and reached for her hand across the island. "What if we took a long weekend instead? We could drive up the coast to Maine and rent a cabin near Acadia, just like we did when we were first dating."

Sarah’s expression softened as the memory surfaced—the brisk morning hikes, the cheap diner lobster rolls, and the cramped little cabin with the stubborn woodstove. It wasn't a luxury resort, but it was perfectly them.

"A cabin in Maine," she mused, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "We'd have to bring plenty of firewood. And maybe we finally open that expensive bottle of champagne we’ve been saving."

"Exactly," Mark said, his eyes crinkling. "No distractions, no home repairs staring us in the face. Just you, me, and a whole lot of pine trees."

"Okay," Sarah said, squeezing his fingers. "Let's do it. But I get to pick the diner this time."

"Deal," Mark laughed, already pulling up a search tab. "Happy early anniversary, Sarah."


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Ohio kitchen, warming the ceramic mug in Elena’s hands. She tapped her index finger against the rim, looking up from her tablet.

"So, next month is the big one," she said, catching Mark’s eye as he poured himself a second cup of coffee. "Ten years."

Mark set the carafe down, leaning against the granite counter. "A whole decade. You deserve a medal. Or at least a tropical island. What do you think about Hawaii? We could finally use those airline miles we’ve been hoarding."

Elena smiled, momentarily tempted by the thought of white sand, but she shook her head slightly. "Hawaii sounds amazing, but with the house repairs we just paid for, maybe we shouldn't blow through our savings just yet. Besides, a twelve-hour flight doesn't exactly scream relaxing to me right now."

"Fair point," Mark conceded, pulling out a stool and sitting across from her. "What did you have in mind, then? A really fancy dinner downtown?"

"I was actually thinking about Cannon Beach," she said softly. "Where we went for our honeymoon. We haven't been back to the Oregon coast since. We could rent a little cabin, build a fire, and just walk the shoreline. Just the two of us, without worrying about massive itineraries or excursions."

Mark’s expression softened, his grandiose ideas melting into genuine warmth. He reached across the kitchen island, covering her hand with his. "Raincoats and clam chowder instead of swimsuits and piña coladas?"

"Exactly."

"I love it," Mark said, squeezing her fingers. "I'll look up cabin rentals this afternoon. Ten years, El. Let's go freeze on a beautiful beach."

Elena laughed, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. It wasn't a lavish tropical getaway, but it was perfectly them.


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, but inside, the smell of freshly brewed dark roast made the morning feel warm. Sarah leaned over the marble island, tapping her pen against the October page of their wall calendar.

"Ten years," she said, her voice a mix of disbelief and quiet pride. "I still think we should do something memorable, Mark. We survived a decade, two major career changes, and a complete kitchen remodel without killing each other."

Mark chuckled from the stove, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. "I agree completely. But does 'memorable' mean a two-week trip to Italy, or a long weekend somewhere we can actually unplug?" He slid the pancake onto a plate and brought it over, taking a seat beside her. "You know how crazy the firm is for you right now."

Sarah sighed, wrapping her hands around her warm mug. "You're right. If we go to Europe, I’ll be checking my email the whole time. I'd be stressed. What if we compromised?"

"I'm listening," Mark said, stealing a blueberry from the edge of her plate.

"Instead of flying across the Atlantic, what if we rent that glass-roofed cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains? We talked about it years ago. Minimal cell service, just us, a fireplace, and the stars."

Mark’s expression softened. He remembered that conversation; they had been newlyweds, broke but constantly dreaming. "A long weekend in the mountains," he mused, nodding. "We could bring that bottle of Cabernet we’ve been saving, maybe do that hike up to the falls. It’s romantic, and more importantly, it's actually relaxing."

"Exactly," Sarah smiled, reaching for her laptop. "I'll check if they have our dates."

Mark reached over, gently covering her hand with his. "Even if they don't, as long as it's just the two of us, it's a perfect anniversary."


Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating the steam rising from Sarah’s coffee mug. She leaned against the granite counter, watching her husband, Mark, stare intently at the wall calendar.

"So," Mark said, tapping his pen against the month of October. "Ten years next month. We need to do something big, right? Maybe finally take that trip to Maui we've been talking about?"

Sarah smiled, taking a slow sip of her dark roast. "Maui sounds incredible, but looking at my project deadlines, I don't know if I can swing two weeks off right now. Plus, finding someone to watch Buster for that long is always a headache."

Mark sighed, though his shoulders noticeably relaxed. "Fair point. But we aren't just going to that Italian place downtown again, are we? I love their lasagna, but a decade of marriage deserves a little more than our standard Friday night date."

"Agreed." Sarah walked over and wrapped an arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder to look at the calendar with him. "What if we compromise? Not a flight across the Pacific, but not a dinner down the street, either."

Mark turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"Remember that little cabin we rented in the Blue Ridge Mountains for our first anniversary? The one with the terrible Wi-Fi and the amazing fire pit?"

Mark’s face lit up. "Yeah. We spent three days just hiking and playing Scrabble. I'm pretty sure I beat you twice."

"You definitely did not," Sarah laughed. "But what if we go back? A long weekend. Just us, the dog, and some really good wine."

Mark wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. "No Wi-Fi, just us. I’ll book it today."


The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, warming the worn oak island where David and Elena sat nursing their Sunday coffee. Between them lay a glossy travel brochure and an open laptop.

"Ten years," David said, leaning back and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "A whole decade. I still think we should do the Paris trip."

Elena smiled, wrapping both hands around her favorite ceramic mug. "Paris is tempting, Dave. But look at the logistics. We'd spend two days just dealing with flights and jet lag. Plus, the house needs that new roof before winter."

David sighed, though it lacked any real disappointment. "Practical as always. So, what’s the alternative? We can't just go to the Italian place down the street like it's year four."

"Hey, I like Luigi's," she laughed. "But no, I agree. I want something special, too." She pulled the laptop closer, turning the screen toward him. "What about a long weekend in Asheville? We can rent a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Just us, the hiking trails, and absolutely no cell service."

David studied the photos of a cozy A-frame cabin surrounded by autumn foliage. He pictured the quiet mornings and the fire pit out back. It felt significantly more *them* than navigating crowded European museums or dressing up for a massive vow-renewal party.

"A cabin," David mused, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "We could bring that bottle of wine we’ve been saving since our wedding."

"Exactly," Elena said softly, reaching across the marble counter to cover his hand with hers. "We don't need a grand gesture to prove we made it ten years. I just want uninterrupted time with you."

"Asheville it is," David agreed, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'm still booking Luigi's for the Tuesday before we leave, though."


Morning sunlight spilled across the kitchen island as Elena scrolled through the shared calendar on her tablet. Across from her, Mark was carefully measuring coffee grounds into the French press.

"Can you believe it's going to be ten years next month?" Elena asked, leaning her chin on her hand.

Mark paused, looking up with a soft smile. "A whole decade. We should probably do something a little more exciting than our usual couch takeout and a movie."

"I was thinking the exact same thing," Elena said. "I actually looked at flights to Maui last night, just out of curiosity."

Mark poured the hot water, the rich scent of dark roast filling the room. "And?"

"And we’d have to dip heavily into the savings account and beg for time off during your busiest quarter at the firm."

"Right. So Hawaii is out," Mark chuckled, slowly pushing the coffee plunger down. "What about a party? We could rent out the patio at Cooper’s and invite everyone."

Elena groaned playfully. "Honestly? That sounds exhausting. I spend all week managing people. I don't want to manage a caterer and a guest list for our anniversary."

Mark poured two mugs, sliding one across the granite counter to her. "Okay, no bankrupting ourselves, and no hosting duties. What if we just disappear for a long weekend? We could rent one of those A-frame cabins up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Just the two of us, a couple bottles of good wine, and absolutely no cell service."

Elena took a sip of her coffee, her eyes brightening. "Only if we can stop at that little Italian place in Asheville on the way up. The one where you almost knocked over the table candle right before you proposed."

"It's a deal," Mark laughed, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "Cabin and fire hazards. Happy early anniversary."


The morning sun slanted through the kitchen blinds, warming the hardwood floor where their golden retriever lay sleeping. Sarah leaned against the quartz island, wrapping both hands around her coffee mug. Next to her, Mark absentmindedly scrolled through a travel blog on his tablet.

"So," Sarah started, playfully nudging his elbow, "ten years next month. Are we actually going to make a decision, or just panic-book a crowded downtown restaurant the night before?"

Mark chuckled, setting the tablet face down. "Hey, I thought the panic-booking was our tradition. But no, a decade deserves better." He ran a hand through his hair, which was showing a bit more silver than it had on their wedding day. "I was looking at flights to Maui. It’s tempting."

Sarah smiled but let out a soft sigh. "Maui sounds incredible, but honestly? Between my promotion and your new project at the firm, the thought of airports, layovers, and jet lag just makes me tired. I want to actually spend time with you, not just collapse on a beach next to you."

"Fair point," Mark agreed, turning fully to face her. "No stressful travel. What if we kept it local but special? We could rent a cabin up in the Adirondacks. Just us, the dog, and absolutely zero cell service."

Sarah’s eyes lit up. "Like the road trip we took right after we got engaged? We could even stop at that rundown diner in Lake George with the amazing cherry pie."

"The Moose Tracks Cafe," Mark said, grinning. "I'm pretty sure that pie is the only reason you married me."

"It was a strong contributing factor," she teased. "Let's do it. A quiet weekend in the mountains. We can hike, drink good wine by a fire, and actually celebrate *us*."

Mark pulled her in for a gentle kiss. "Perfect. I'll book the cabin; you map out the pie route."


The rhythmic thwack of Mark’s chef’s knife against the cutting board filled the kitchen, blending with the gentle simmer of pasta water on the stove. Leaning against the island, Sarah traced the rim of her wine glass and stared out the window at the damp Ohio twilight.

"Two weeks from Friday," Sarah said, breaking the comfortable silence. "Ten years."

Mark paused, scraping the diced onions into a sizzling pan. "The big one-oh. Have you thought about what you want to do? I know we talked about Napa last year, but with the new roof eating up the savings..."

Sarah waved a hand dismissively, taking a sip of her Cabernet. "Honestly, the thought of airports right now exhausts me. I don’t need a massive trip, Mark. I just want it to be us, actually paying attention to each other without distractions."

"No phones," Mark agreed, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "And absolutely no talking about the mortgage or the plumbing."

"Deal." Sarah smiled, watching him stir the onions. "What if we just took a long weekend? We could rent a cabin up in Hocking Hills. We could hike, build a fire, and actually open that expensive bottle of Scotch you’ve been hoarding since your promotion."

Mark leaned across the granite counter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "A quiet cabin. Hiking. Scotch. Are you sure you’re not just planning my dream anniversary?"

"I’m compromising," she laughed, bumping her shoulder against his. "You cook the steaks, I’ll pick the hiking trails. It’s better than spending three grand just to sit on a delayed flight, right?"

"It sounds perfect," Mark said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "Just you, me, and zero cell service. I'll look for a rental tonight."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their suburban Ohio home. Sarah leaned against the granite counter, warming her hands around a ceramic mug of coffee. Across the kitchen island, David was scrolling through his tablet, a half-eaten bagel on a plate beside him.

"So," Sarah began, breaking the comfortable morning silence. "Next month. The big ten."

David looked up, a soft smile forming. "A whole decade. I was actually just looking at flights. I thought maybe we could do Napa? Or that resort in Sedona we talked about last year."

Sarah sighed happily, though her shoulders relaxed a fraction. "Sedona sounds amazing, but honestly? Between the kitchen renovation and work being so crazy lately, the thought of navigating airports right now just exhausts me."

"Fair point," David said, setting the tablet face down. "No airports. So, what are you thinking? A fancy dinner downtown? A weekend in a cabin upstate?"

"A cabin could be nice," Sarah mused, taking a sip of her coffee. "But you know what I’d really love? Just… us. No dress codes, no rushing to make a reservation."

David tilted his head, catching her drift. "Are you suggesting we stay here?"

"Hear me out," she said, her eyes brightening. "We hire that private chef we met at the Johnsons' party. We open that expensive bottle of wine we brought back from our honeymoon, build a fire, and actually enjoy this house we work so hard to pay for."

David chuckled, the tension of travel planning leaving his face completely. "A five-course meal in my sweatpants? With my favorite person?" He reached across the island to cover her hand with his. "Sarah, that might be the best anniversary idea you've ever had."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Sarah traced the edge of her coffee mug. She looked across the granite island at David, who was scrolling through his phone with a slight frown.

"Tenth anniversary," Sarah said, breaking the quiet of their Sunday morning. "It feels like we should do something massive. Paris? Hawaii? A big catered party?"

David chuckled, setting his phone face-down on the counter. "I was just looking at flights to Honolulu. Honestly, the layovers look exhausting. And my mom already hinted she wanted to throw us a huge backyard bash."

Sarah groaned playfully, leaning her chin on her hand. "Please, no. I love your mother, but I don't want to spend our milestone weekend making sure my cousins aren't drinking too much and arguing over politics."

"Agreed," David said, reaching out to cover her hand with his. "So, what do we actually want to do? Just the two of us."

Sarah looked around their kitchen—the subway tile they had installed themselves, the scuff marks on the floorboards from their golden retriever. "Remember our first anniversary? We were so broke we just drove up to Shenandoah, rented that drafty cabin, and hiked for three days."

David’s eyes lit up. "We ate peanut butter sandwiches and got rained out on the second day."

"It was perfect," Sarah smiled.

"We could do it again," David suggested, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "But since we aren't twenty-five anymore, maybe we upgrade to a cabin with actual central heating and a hot tub this time?"

"A hot tub and decent wine," Sarah countered. "No party, no airports. Just the Blue Ridge Mountains and us."

David picked up his phone again, his frown replaced by an easy smile. "Shenandoah it is. Let's find us a cabin."


Morning sunlight slanted across the granite kitchen island, illuminating the steam rising from Sarah’s coffee mug. She tapped her pen against the calendar, staring at the thick red circle she had drawn around the fifteenth of next month.

"Ten years," she said, leaning back on her stool. "I still can't quite wrap my head around it."

Across the counter, David looked up from his tablet. He set it down, a soft smile breaking through his weekend stubble. "A whole decade. We should do something real to celebrate. Not just the usual quick dinner after work."

"I was looking at cabins in the Blue Ridge Mountains," Sarah offered, sliding her laptop toward him. "Just for a long weekend. We could hike, unplug, and finally open that bottle of Amarone we bought in Rome."

David scrolled through the photos of the rustic, timber-framed cabins, but Sarah caught the slight hesitation in his eyes.

"Too much?" she asked.

"It's beautiful," David said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But with the plumbing repairs last month, and my quarterly reports due that same exact week... I'd just be stressed. If we hit the ten-year mark, I want to actually be present with you."

Sarah nodded, closing the laptop halfway. "That’s fair. I don't want you checking emails from a mountain top. But I don't want to just order our usual takeout, either."

David reached across the island, covering her hand with his. "What if we book a room at the boutique hotel downtown? We drop the dog at my sister’s, get dressed up, and go back to that French bistro where we had our first anniversary. It's only twenty minutes away, but we'd be completely off duty."

Sarah’s face brightened. "No laptops," she agreed. "And we can still bring the Amarone."

"Deal," David said, raising his coffee mug in a preemptive toast.


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, but inside, the house smelled of roasting garlic and warmth. Mark leaned against the granite counter, watching his wife, Sarah, chop tomatoes with practiced efficiency.

"So," Mark began, taking a sip of his seltzer. "October twelfth. It’s exactly a month away."

Sarah paused, her knife resting on the wooden cutting board. "Ten years. I can't believe it's been a decade." She wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned to face him. "Are we finally doing that big Paris trip we talked about when we were twenty-five?"

Mark chuckled, running a hand through his slightly thinning hair. "I looked at flights today. Between the current mortgage rates and the roof repair last spring, Paris might mean eating instant ramen for the next year."

"Fair enough," Sarah sighed, though her smile was warm and genuine. "Honestly, the idea of a nine-hour flight right now sounds a bit exhausting anyway. Work has been completely draining lately."

"Exactly," Mark said. "So, what if we keep it domestic? Somewhere we can drive to, but still feels like a real escape."

Sarah leaned against the island, her eyes drifting toward the rainy window as she thought. "What about that little cabin in the Adirondacks? The one we rented our first year of marriage? We hiked, drank cheap wine on the porch, and barely had any cell service."

Mark’s face lit up. "I love that idea. No airports, no rigid itineraries. Just us, the mountains, and maybe some slightly better wine this time."

"Definitely better wine," Sarah agreed, picking her knife back up to finish the tomatoes. "Let’s see if it’s available."

Mark pulled out his phone, already opening the rental site. "Ten years," he murmured, smiling at her. "I wouldn't want to hide out in the woods with anyone else."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Mark dried the last of the dinner plates. He glanced at the calendar pinned to the fridge, the number fifteen circled heavily in red marker.

"Ten years next Friday," he said, hanging the damp towel over the oven handle. "Are we still pretending we’re going to Paris?"

Sarah looked up from her laptop at the kitchen island, a warm smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "I looked at flights again today. Unless we want to eat instant ramen for the next six months, Paris might have to wait for year fifteen."

Mark chuckled, pulling out a stool and sitting across from her. "Fair enough. So, what’s the backup plan? We can’t just do our usual Friday night takeout for a whole decade of marriage."

"Well," Sarah sighed, closing her laptop. "I was thinking about where we were ten years ago. Before the mortgage, before the promotions, before the dog chewed the baseboards."

"We were completely broke and living in that tiny apartment above the bakery," Mark recalled fondly. "We used to get those awful, cheap tacos from the truck on 4th Street and eat them by the lake."

Sarah’s eyes lit up. "Exactly. What if we do that? We can rent a little cabin at Lake Miller for the weekend. No laptops, no fixing the gutters. Just us, a couple of lawn chairs, and the best takeout we can find."

Mark reached across the island, covering her hand with his. The simplicity of the idea felt perfectly like them. "A quiet weekend at the lake," he agreed. "But let's upgrade the tacos to the good steakhouse downtown, and bring it with us."

"Deal," Sarah said, her smile widening. "Happy almost ten years."


The morning sun angled through the kitchen blinds, illuminating the steam rising from Sarah’s coffee mug. She leaned against the granite counter, watching her husband, Mark, scroll thoughtfully through his phone at the island.

"It’s precisely four weeks away," Sarah said, wrapping both hands around her warm mug.

Mark looked up, a soft smile breaking through his morning grogginess. "Ten years. A whole decade of you putting up with me." He set the phone face-down. "I was actually just looking at flights to Maui. Or maybe that resort in Sedona we talked about last winter."

Sarah sighed, a fond but practical sound. "Sedona sounds amazing, but with the kitchen remodel eating into our savings, plus the kids' track meets that month... I just don't know if a huge, expensive trip is the right move right now."

Mark nodded slowly, leaning back in his stool. "You're right. The logistics alone would stress us out, which completely defeats the purpose. But it’s our tenth. We can’t just do dinner at the local Italian place and call it a night. We need something special."

"Agreed," Sarah said. She walked over and took the stool beside him. "What if we did a long weekend up the coast? Just drive up to Monterey. We haven't been there since our honeymoon."

Mark’s eyes lit up. "The little bed-and-breakfast with the awful floral wallpaper?"

"I'm pretty sure they updated the wallpaper," Sarah laughed. "But yes. Just the two of us, no TSA lines, no massive itinerary. Just ocean air, good seafood, and unplugging for three days."

Mark reached over, covering her hand with his. "I love it. I'll call my mom to confirm she can take the kids, and you look up the B&B. Let's hope the floral wallpaper is actually gone."


Morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen blinds, catching the steam rising from Sarah’s coffee mug. She leaned against the counter, studying the floral calendar pinned to the refrigerator.

"You realize the twelfth is exactly one month away?" she asked, turning to look at David.

David looked up from his laptop at the kitchen island, adjusting his glasses. "Ten years. A whole decade. I guess we should probably figure out what we’re doing, huh?"

Sarah took a sip of her coffee. "Everyone at work keeps asking if we're going to Europe or Hawaii. My mother even offered to watch the kids for a whole week."

"We could do Hawaii," David said, though his voice lacked conviction. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Flights are pretty steep right now, and honestly, the thought of navigating TSA and a six-hour time difference makes me tired just thinking about it."

Sarah chuckled, walking over to sit on the stool beside him. "Me too. Between my quarterly reports and your new project, planning a massive vacation feels like taking on a second job. What if we just... didn't?"

"Didn't celebrate?"

"No, just didn't go big." Sarah traced the rim of her mug. "Remember that A-frame cabin we rented in Asheville for our first anniversary? The one with the spotty Wi-Fi but the amazing deck?"

A slow smile spread across David's face. "The one where we accidentally burned the steaks and had to eat cereal for dinner?"

"That's the one. I looked it up yesterday, and it's actually available. We could drive up Thursday, hike, read, and do absolutely nothing for four days."

David closed his laptop. "No airports. Just us, the Blue Ridge mountains, and hopefully better steaks." He reached over, squeezing her hand. "Book it. It sounds perfect."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Elena and David sat across from each other at the island, a battered calendar resting between their coffee mugs. Next month marked their fifteenth anniversary, a milestone that felt both monumental and quietly ordinary in the rhythm of their busy lives.

"So," David said, leaning forward and tracing the red circle he’d drawn around the twelfth of November. "Fifteen years. We should probably do something bigger than our usual dinner at Antonio’s."

Elena smiled, cupping her warm mug. "Antonio’s has never let us down, but I agree. It feels like we should commemorate surviving each other for a decade and a half."

"I was looking at flights to Maui," David offered, watching her face carefully. "Or maybe a long weekend in Napa. We haven't been out West since before the twins were born."

Elena sighed, a soft, practical sound. "Maui sounds incredible, Dave. But honestly? The thought of coordinating a week of childcare with my sister, the cross-country flights, the time change... it makes me tired just thinking about it."

David chuckled, nodding in concession. "Fair point. I don't want you stressed on our anniversary. So, what’s the alternative? We can’t just stay home and order takeout."

"What if we drove up to the Berkshires?" Elena suggested, her eyes brightening. "Just for three nights. We could rent a cabin in the woods—no Wi-Fi, just a fireplace and us. We could stop at that antique market we used to love in Great Barrington, buy an overpriced bottle of wine, and actually hear ourselves think."

David studied her, his smile softening. He reached across the granite counter, covering her hand with his. "A fireplace, wine, and no schedules," he said. "It sounds perfect. I'll start looking up cabins tonight."


Rain drummed steadily against the kitchen windowpane, blurring the dreary Seattle morning outside. Inside, the smell of freshly brewed dark roast filled the room. Sarah wrapped both hands around her favorite ceramic mug and looked across the granite island at her husband.

"It’s exactly a month away," she said, leaning forward. "Ten years, Mark."

Mark set down his tablet, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A slow, warm smile spread across his face. "A decade. We survived our twenties, a starter home with terrible plumbing, and an actual global pandemic. We need to do something big."

"Define big," Sarah replied, arching an eyebrow. "Because last week you complained about the price of eggs."

Mark laughed. "Fair point. But I was thinking maybe we finally take that trip to Maui? We’ve been talking about it since the wedding."

Sarah swirled the dark liquid in her mug, considering. "Hawaii sounds amazing, but between the long flights, the time change, and the sheer cost... I don't know if I want to spend our tenth anniversary stressed out in an airport."

"What are you thinking, then?" Mark asked, giving her his full attention. "A fancy tasting menu downtown?"

"No, I want a real getaway. Just closer to home." Sarah smiled, the memory already softening her expression. "What about a long weekend back at that little A-frame cabin in the Cascades? The one we rented the winter we got engaged. We can hike, drink wine on the porch, and actually talk to each other without looking at our phones."

Mark’s expression softened, the grand Hawaiian plans instantly melting away. "Just us, the mountains, and zero cell service?"

"Exactly," Sarah said.

Mark reached across the counter and gently tapped his mug against hers. "Happy early anniversary, Sarah. Let's book it."


Rain tapped against the kitchen window of their Portland home as Mark poured a second cup of coffee, sliding it across the granite island to Elena.

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

Elena wrapped her hands around the warm mug, sighing. Between their recent kitchen remodel and the general exhaustion of their busy work weeks, a massive vacation felt more draining than romantic.

"I want to celebrate us," Elena said, looking up at him. "But the thought of airports and itineraries right now makes me want to take a nap."

Mark chuckled, his shoulders dropping in visible relief. "I'm so glad you said that. I was bracing myself to look up flight prices."

"What if we did something closer?" she suggested. "Remember that little cabin in the Cascades we rented when we were still dating?"

"The one with the woodstove that smoked us out on the first night?" Mark smiled, walking over to pull up a stool beside her.

"Exactly. We could book a place near Mount Hood. Leave our laptops here, pack some decent wine, and actually talk to each other without our phones buzzing."

Mark reached out, tapping her hand affectionately. "A long weekend. Just the two of us, a fireplace, and maybe that expensive steakhouse downtown before we head up to the mountains."

"Perfect," Elena said, her smile reaching her eyes. "It’s low-stress, but it still feels like a real escape."

"I'll look up cabins today," Mark promised. He kissed her temple, the quiet rhythm of the rain outside matching the comfortable, familiar peace they had built over a decade together.


Sarah traced the rim of her coffee mug, her eyes lingering on the floral calendar pinned to the kitchen refrigerator. "The tenth," she murmured, tapping the glossy square for October. "Can you believe it's been a whole decade, Mark?"

Across the granite island, Mark lowered his tablet, adjusting his glasses. "Ten years next month. We should probably figure out what we’re doing before all the good reservations are gone."

"I was thinking about that," Sarah said, pulling her fleece robe tighter against the morning draft of their Chicago rowhouse. "My sister keeps asking if we’re going to Hawaii or Europe. A big, traditional milestone trip."

Mark chuckled, standing to refill his mug from the French press. "Europe sounds amazing, but with the roof repairs coming up, maybe a massive international vacation isn't the most practical idea. Unless you want to put out buckets in the hallway every time it rains this winter."

"No, definitely not," Sarah laughed, imagining the chaos. "Honestly, the idea of airport security, coordinating flights, and jet lag sounds exhausting right now anyway. I kind of just want it to be the two of us. No stress, no crazy itineraries."

"What if we drive up to Door County?" Mark suggested, leaning against the counter. "We could see if that little A-frame cabin we stayed in when we were twenty-five is available. Take the dog, hike the state park, and just drink wine by the fire."

Sarah’s expression softened. "The one with the aggressively ugly plaid couch?"

"The very same," Mark smiled. "We could get a nice steak dinner at that waterfront place for the actual anniversary night, but keep the rest of the weekend entirely unplugged."

Sarah reached across the island, squeezing his hand. "I would absolutely love that. It feels way more 'us' than Paris anyway. Let's book it this afternoon."


Sarah leaned against the kitchen island, nursing a lukewarm mug of tea while scrolling through her laptop. Rain tapped lightly against the suburban window, a familiar soundtrack to their quiet Tuesday evenings.

"So," Sarah began, glancing up. "Next month. The big one-zero."

Mark turned from the stove, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He lowered the heat on the marinara sauce before leaning back against the counter. "Ten years. A whole decade. Have you decided where you want to go? I was looking at those flights to Hawaii again."

Sarah sighed gently, pushing her laptop half-shut. "I know we talked about a big beach trip, but honestly? The idea of dealing with airport parking, TSA lines, and packing just makes me tired."

"Fair enough," Mark smiled, walking over to join her at the island. "No airports. But what’s the alternative? We can’t just order Thai takeout and watch a movie like we do every Friday. It's a milestone."

"What if we rented that little A-frame cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains?" she suggested, watching his face. "The one near where we went camping the summer we got engaged. Just three days, no wifi, no work emails. We could hike, actually talk to each other without looking at our phones, and drink good wine on the porch."

Mark’s expression softened. He reached out, covering her hand with his warm one. A grand tropical vacation had sounded nice in theory, but the quiet intimacy of the mountains felt much more like *them*.

"Three days of just us in the woods," Mark agreed, his thumb tracing her knuckles. "I'll ask HR for the Friday and Monday off tomorrow morning. But I'm upgrading our wine budget."

"Deal," Sarah smiled. "I’ll book the cabin tonight."


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Ohio kitchen, catching the steam rising from Sarah’s coffee mug. She tapped her pen against the open calendar on the kitchen island.

"So," Sarah began, glancing up at David, who was busy scraping out the last of the peanut butter jar. "Ten years next month. Are we doing this big, or are we doing this smart?"

David tossed the jar into the recycling bin and leaned against the counter. "I was actually thinking big. Maybe that bed and breakfast in Vermont we’ve had bookmarked forever? The one with the wrap-around porch."

Sarah smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Vermont sounds amazing, Dave. But with the roof repairs taking a bite out of savings last month, I don't want to spend the whole weekend stressing about what we're putting on the credit card."

"Fair point," David conceded, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "Smart it is. What’s the smart play?"

"What if we recreate our first road trip?" she suggested, leaning forward. "Drive up to the lake, rent a small cabin for the weekend, and eat terrible diner food. No expensive tasting menus, just us, the dog, and a couple of hiking trails."

David’s expression softened. He walked over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Only if we stop at that roadside pie stand on Route 4. The one where we got the flat tire."

"Deal," Sarah laughed. "But you're checking the spare tire before we leave this time."

"Hey, that flat built character," he teased, kissing the top of her head. "A cabin by the lake. Ten years. Sounds perfect to me."

Sarah penciled a star onto the calendar square, feeling a quiet warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee. It wasn't Paris or a luxury resort, but it was exactly them.


The clatter of silverware against porcelain filled the kitchen as Mark loaded the dishwasher. At the island, Sarah wiped down the granite countertops, pausing to glance at the calendar pinned to the fridge.

"Two months out," Sarah said, leaning on the sponge. "Are we actually going to make a plan for our tenth, or just panic-order takeout like we did for year nine?"

Mark chuckled, shutting the dishwasher door. "I think a decade warrants more than pad thai on the couch. I was looking at flights to Hawaii this morning."

Sarah smiled, though a slight crease formed between her eyebrows. "Hawaii sounds incredible. But with the roof repairs this year, can we really swing a big trip? Plus, getting a full week off right now might be tough for me."

"Fair point," Mark conceded, pulling a dish towel from the rack to dry his hands. "What about a party? We could rent out the back room at that brewery downtown. Invite all our friends."

Sarah groaned good-naturedly. "Please, no. I spend all day managing people at the office. The last thing I want for our anniversary is to play host to thirty people."

"No big trip, no big party," Mark mused, walking over to wrap his arms loosely around her waist. "What if we just take a long weekend? Drive up to the Berkshires. We could book a cabin, hike that trail where we got engaged, and actually afford a dinner where they don't hand us laminated menus."

Sarah leaned back into his embrace, the tension melting from her shoulders. "A cabin. Just the two of us, some good wine, and zero cell service?"

"Exactly."

"It's perfect," she said, turning to kiss his cheek. "Book it before we change our minds."


The clinking of silverware against ceramic echoed in the warm kitchen as David rinsed the last of the dinner plates. At the island counter, Elena scrolled idly through her phone calendar, a half-empty glass of red wine resting near her elbow.

"So," Elena started, her eyes flicking up. "Next month is the big one. Ten years. Have you thought about what we’re doing?"

David dried his hands on a kitchen towel and leaned against the counter, smiling at her. "I have, actually. I was looking at flights to Hawaii, just like we talked about a few years ago."

Elena sighed, a soft, affectionate sound, but her shoulders slumped slightly. "I looked today, too. I saw the prices. And with the kids' soccer camp coming up, plus that upcoming roof repair… it feels a little irresponsible right now."

"I know," David admitted, crossing the kitchen to sit on the stool next to her. "But it’s a decade, El. We can’t just go to the local steakhouse and call it a night. You deserve something special."

"We don't have to stay home," she said, leaning forward. "What if we took a long weekend? Just drive up to that little rented cabin in Asheville. No cell service, no chores. We could hike a section of the Blue Ridge Parkway, just like we did on our very first anniversary."

David’s expression softened as he pictured it. He reached across the granite countertop, covering her hand with his. "Just the two of us? Drinking coffee on the porch, building a fire, and actually having an uninterrupted conversation?"

"Exactly," Elena smiled, turning her hand to interlock her fingers with his. "It’s not Maui, but it’s us."

"I love it," David said, squeezing her hand. "I'll book the cabin tomorrow morning. Ten years down, and Asheville sounds perfect."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland home as David slid a mug of black coffee across the granite island. Maya caught it with both hands, letting the ceramic warm her chilled fingers.

"So," David said, leaning against the counter. "Ten years next month. Are we doing the big Paris trip we talked about, or did the roof repair kill that dream?"

Maya offered a wry smile, blowing steam from her mug. "The new roof definitely put a dent in the Paris fund. Plus, honestly? I don't know if I have the energy for a transatlantic flight right now. The firm has been exhausting this quarter."

"Fair enough. We could do a long weekend in Napa?" David suggested, pulling his phone from his pocket to check his work calendar. "Or maybe just that tasting menu at the new place downtown?"

Maya swirled her coffee, looking thoughtfully out at the gray morning. "What if we just went back to the coast? We could rent a cabin in Cannon Beach like we did on our first anniversary. We can build a fire, leave our laptops here, and just... be."

David looked up from his screen, the familiar weekend tension in his shoulders softening. He deliberately set his phone face-down on the counter. "Just board games, a stormy beach, and no cell service?"

"And maybe slightly better wine this time," Maya laughed, looking up at him. "We are in our late thirties now."

"I love it," David said, stepping around the island to kiss the top of her head. "It’s low-stress, it’s perfectly us, and it means I don't have to wear a suit."

"Exactly." Maya leaned into his touch. "We can save Paris for year fifteen."


The morning sun slanted through the kitchen blinds, warming the worn oak table where David and Sarah sat with their Sunday coffee. Next Friday marked ten years of marriage, a milestone that had been looming on their shared digital calendar for months.

"So," David said, setting his mug down over the half-finished crossword puzzle. "Are we actually going to book those flights to Hawaii, or are we still pretending we want to spend twelve hours on a plane?"

Sarah chuckled, wrapping both hands around her warm cup. "I was just thinking the exact same thing. I know ten years is supposed to mean a big, grand gesture, but the thought of packing, airport security, and jet lag sounds exhausting right now."

"Exactly." David leaned back, looking visibly relieved. "I just want to spend time with you. Not navigate a rental car desk in Honolulu."

"What if we keep it local?" Sarah suggested, her eyes brightening. "Remember that little A-frame cabin we rented up in the Blue Ridge Mountains for our first anniversary?"

David smiled, the memory softening his features. "The one with the terrible draft and the incredible porch swing?"

"That's the one. It’s only a three-hour drive from here. We could take Friday off, buy way too many groceries at Trader Joe's, and spend three days doing absolutely nothing but reading, hiking, and drinking wine."

David pulled his phone from his pocket. "Let me see if it's available. If not that exact one, maybe something nearby." He tapped the screen a few times, navigating the rental app. "Actually, I think I see it. Same green roof and everything."

"Book it," Sarah said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "No airports, no itineraries. Just us."

"Just us," David echoed, hitting confirm. "Happy early anniversary."


Mark leaned against the kitchen counter, a damp dish towel slung over his shoulder, and stared at the calendar pinned to the fridge. Next Thursday had a thick red circle drawn around it.

"Ten years," he said, handing Sarah a dripping coffee mug. "A whole decade. Have you thought about what we’re doing for it?"

Sarah placed the mug on the drying rack and sighed, resting her hip against the sink. "I have. Part of me wants to blow our savings on a week in Maui, but the practical part of me remembers we just replaced the entire HVAC system."

Mark chuckled, stepping closer to wrap his free arm around her waist. "Yeah, the new furnace really killed the island vibe. But we can’t just do our usual Thai takeout and a Netflix binge. Not for the big one-oh."

"Agreed," Sarah said, tilting her head to look at him. "What if we did a long weekend? We could drive up to the Berkshires. Rent a little cabin with a fireplace, hike if the fall weather holds up, and actually unplug. No laptops, no fixing things around the house."

Mark considered it. It was a highly realistic plan—only a three-hour drive from their driveway, and it wouldn't require burning through all their remaining PTO. More importantly, it felt right.

"Like that A-frame we stayed in the year before we got engaged?" he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Exactly like that," she said softly. "We can splurge on a really nice dinner out on Saturday night. Just the two of us, reflecting on surviving ten years of my cooking and your snoring."

"I love it," Mark laughed, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "I'll look for a cabin tonight. You figure out where we're getting that fancy dinner."

"Deal," Sarah smiled, tossing the sponge into the sink.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland craftsman as David poured a second cup of coffee. He slid the mug across the butcher-block island to Elena, who was mindlessly scrolling through a news app on her tablet.

"So," David said, leaning against the counter. "Next month. Ten years."

Elena looked up, a soft smile breaking her concentration. "A whole decade. I still don't know how you've put up with me."

"It's your cooking," David joked, taking a sip. "But seriously, we need to figure out what we're doing. My brother asked yesterday if we're finally taking that trip to Hawaii."

Elena sighed, setting the tablet face down. "I know. My mom sent me a link to a resort in Maui, too. It looks amazing, but just thinking about the flights, the boarding fees for the dog, and taking that much time off work makes me stressed."

"We don't have to do a grand tour just because it's the ten-year mark," David said, keeping his tone gentle. "We just paid to replace the roof. A massive vacation feels like a lot of financial pressure right now."

"Exactly." Elena wrapped her hands around her warm mug, letting the steam hit her face. "What if we just went back to the coast? We could see if that little A-frame cabin in Cannon Beach is available. The one near where you proposed."

David’s eyes lit up. "The one with the tiny woodstove? We haven't been there since before we bought this house."

"We could hike Ecola State Park, eat way too much clam chowder, and actually relax," Elena said, her enthusiasm building. "Just the two of us. No airport security."

"A long weekend at the coast," David agreed, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I’ll look up the rental site right now. It sounds perfect."


Rain tapped against the kitchen window as Mark scrubbed the last dinner plate. At the island, Sarah stared at her laptop, a lukewarm mug of peppermint tea resting beside her keyboard.

"So," Sarah said, breaking the quiet hum of the dishwasher. "Next month is the tenth. We need a plan."

Mark dried his hands on a dish towel and leaned against the granite counter. "Ten years. It feels like we should do something big. A trip to Hawaii? A Michelin-star dinner in the city?"

Sarah smiled, closing her laptop. "Hawaii sounds amazing, but with the roof repairs we just paid for, it might be a stretch. And honestly, a fancy tasting menu feels a little too stiff for us."

"Fair point," Mark said, walking over to pull out a stool beside her. "We’re more the 'pizza and beer' type anyway. What if we kept it simple, but meaningful?"

"Define simple."

"Do you remember that A-frame cabin we rented in the Catskills for our first anniversary?" Mark asked, watching her face light up. "We spent three days playing Scrabble by the woodstove and hiking in the mud."

"I loved that trip," Sarah said softly. "The one with the terrible diner down the road?"

"The very same," Mark laughed. "We could book it for a long weekend. Leave the laptops here, buy a couple of good steaks to grill, and just actually spend time together."

Sarah reached out, resting her hand over his. The diamond on her ring caught the warm kitchen light, a quiet reminder of a decade of shared decisions. "No flights, no dressing up. Just us and a woodstove." She squeezed his fingers. "I think it’s perfect. Let’s see if it's available."


The clinking of silverware faded as Mark set his coffee mug on the kitchen island. Rain pattered against the living room windows of their Virginia home, a soothing backdrop to a quiet Tuesday evening.

"So," Sarah said, leaning against the granite counter and drying her hands on a dish towel. "Next month is the big ten. Have we figured out what we’re actually doing?"

Mark scrubbed a hand through his slightly graying hair. "I was looking at flights to Oahu again today. Just to see. But honestly, spending fourteen hours in transit for a five-day window sounds exhausting."

"I agree," Sarah said with a genuine sigh of relief. "Between your software launch and the kids' soccer playoffs, packing for a huge trip feels like more stress than romance right now."

"We could just do a really fancy dinner downtown," Mark offered, tapping the screen of his phone. "That French place we went to for year five?"

Sarah walked over and wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders from behind. "Dinner is nice, but I want actual time with you. Not just two hours over duck confit before we have to rush back to relieve the babysitter."

Mark tilted his head back, catching her eye. "What if we asked your mom to take the kids for the whole weekend? We could rent one of those A-frame cabins up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Just us, a fireplace, and a ridiculous amount of good wine."

A soft smile touched Sarah’s lips. "No Wi-Fi?"

"Strictly out of office," Mark promised, turning his stool to face her. "We can take a hike we’ll inevitably complain about and just actually talk."

"It’s perfect," she said, leaning in to kiss him. "Book the cabin. I’ll call my mom tomorrow."


The rhythmic hum of the dishwasher filled the kitchen as Sarah wiped down the granite countertops. She paused, her gaze catching the calendar pinned to the fridge.

"Hey," she said, tossing the sponge into the sink. "Do you realize the twelfth is exactly three weeks away? That’s ten years, Mark."

Mark looked up from his laptop at the kitchen island, adjusting his glasses. "A full decade," he smiled, closing the screen. "We officially survived our thirties together. We need to do something big. A long weekend in Napa? We haven't been to California since the honeymoon."

Sarah leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "I’d love that, I really would. But with the roof repairs last month and my quarterly reports due that same week, flying across the country feels a little exhausting right now."

Mark’s shoulders dropped a fraction, but he nodded in understanding. "Fair point. We don't want to spend our tenth anniversary stressing about flight delays or budget spreadsheets. So, what’s the alternative? Just a fancy dinner downtown?"

"A fancy dinner is standard," Sarah mused. "What if we rented one of those A-frame cabins up in the Blue Ridge Mountains? Just for two nights. No laptops, no cell service. We can pick up a couple of expensive steaks, a bottle of that Cabernet we served at our wedding, and just actually focus on each other."

Mark’s expression softened. He stood up, walking over to wrap his arms around her waist. "Steaks, our wedding wine, and zero emails? That actually sounds perfect."

"And we wouldn't have to board Buster," Sarah added, resting her head against his chest. "He loves the woods."

"It’s settled then," Mark said, kissing the top of her head. "Ten years celebrated in the mountains. I'll look for a cabin tonight."


Rain lashed against the windows of their Portland craftsman, but inside, the living room was warm and quiet. David sat at one end of the worn leather sofa, scrolling through his tablet, while Maya was curled at the other end with a steaming mug of chamomile tea.

"So," Maya said, breaking the soft hum of the dishwasher. "Next month. Ten years."

David locked his tablet and set it on the coffee table, a slow smile spreading across his face. "A whole decade. Have you thought about what you want to do? We could finally take that trip to Napa we’ve been talking about since year five."

Maya sighed, shifting her weight against the cushions. "I did think about it. But with my new project launching at work and the kitchen renovation eating into our savings, planning a big flight sounds more stressful than romantic right now."

David nodded, understanding. "Fair point. We don't need to drain the bank account to celebrate. What if we do a long weekend up at Mount Hood instead? We could just rent a small cabin, bring the dog, and actually turn off our phones."

Maya’s eyes lit up over the rim of her mug. "A quiet cabin sounds perfect. But for the actual day of the anniversary—which is a Tuesday, by the way—I want to do something right here."

"Here? Like cooking?" David asked.

"Like recreating our first apartment," she laughed. "Remember? We ordered that greasy pepperoni pizza from Mario's, sat on the floor because we didn't have a couch yet, and drank terrible red wine out of plastic cups."

David chuckled, the memory softening his features. "I remember spilling my cup and spending twenty minutes scrubbing the rug with club soda. It’s a deal. Greasy pizza on Tuesday, mountain air on Friday." He reached across the sofa, taking her hand. "Happy early anniversary."