Sometimes she’d smile and add:
“My favorite person.”
That was enough for me.
About a year before our anniversary, I started thinking about our vow renewal.
I wanted to give Janet something she’d never forget.
Something that couldn’t be bought from a store.
So I picked up my knitting needles.
I’d learned to knit as a boy from my grandmother.
She taught me how to make scarves, sweaters, blankets—simple things.
But this time, I had something much more ambitious in mind.
A wedding dress.
For almost a year, I worked on it in secret.
The garage became my workshop.
Every night after Janet went to bed, I’d sit beneath the dim light with yarn spread across my lap.
The needles clicked softly while an old radio played in the background.
Sometimes Janet would call from inside the house.
“Tom? Where are you?”
“Just working on something.”
“Again?”
“Be there soon.”
She never suspected the truth.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
One evening, our son Anthony walked into the garage and caught me knitting.
He stared at me.
“Dad.”
I froze.
“Yeah?”
“Are you knitting?”
