Crying LATER counts as strength.

We’re just vibing like usual. Bubs clutching a trash truck, his precious treasure, both of us on the floor making “vroom vroom” noises like it’s a competitive sport. It’s a normal ass day. No dramatic sunset. No violin music. Just us and crumbs.

Then he looks up at me with those big eyes that cast spells. He pats my cheek, leans in… and goes: “Love you.” UNPROMPTED. IN CONTEXT.

This wasn’t him playing parrot. This was chosen affection. A deliberate deployment of love. My entire soul malfunctioned. I scooped him up like he was an Oscar I just won for Best Emotional Breakdown in the Auntie Category. He hugged me back with this little squeeze, like he needed me right then too. He planted a wet smooch on my cheek to seal the deal.

I stood up, gathered myself, gathered my bag, gathered whatever dignity I had left, and walked to the car pretending I was completely fine. Door closes. Seatbelt clicks. Silence. And then the floodgates opened. Full face waterfall. Mascara trying to evacuate the scene. If anyone saw me, they’d assume I’d just watched a dog reunited with its owner after war.