They sat together for nearly an hour—knitting, laughing, fixing mistakes. Jason knew exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t new to him.

Over the next two weeks, I watched every “garage time.”
More sweaters appeared.
A green one for Lizzie.
A gray one for Jason.
And another, adult-sized, still on the needles.

The words read:
“I have the best wife in the world.”

I was the one sneaking. Watching. Lying.

Then my birthday came.

Lizzie jumped onto the bed, yelling, “Happy birthday!”
Jason followed with pancakes and coffee.

They brought out a big box.

Inside were the sweaters.

Uneven. Crooked. Perfect.

One read:
“I am the best mom and wife.”

“We knew you’d never say it about yourself,” Jason said. “So we did.”

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