happy anniversary darling When my mum first met you, do you want to know the first thing she told me when she had me in the kitchen of our home that was still new even to us? She told me that she wasn't worried, she said that her and my dad wanted to stay longer in case they say that I needed the help or that my happiness was a fabrication and not a reality, that I was pretending to be happy whenever we would talk on skype with them. She told me that she didn't know how I wasn't worried, but during my pregnancy she didn't say much. I knew she was concerned and she was fearful having not met you, having not have fallen in love with you the way that I had or the way that I was able to show myself and allow your parents to see the kind of woman I am. In the kitchen, in that moment, she told me that she knew I would be safe with you, something she has never said to be about another man I had been with. Out of the small number of men who were lucky enough to meet my parents, you're the only one who didn't raise questions; no one wondered what I was doing with you or what you were doing with me. "I can see it, Rosie," she told me. "I can see it in the way he looks at you." I've always thought those words were bullshit, that a look couldn't hold that much power, but I don't know, she's not the only person who has told us that, we get that so often, people can just tell when it comes to us, and that's not something that I would ever want to take for granted. It's the little things. It's the way my mum knew you would be able to take care of me, us, our family. Hearing those words from the woman who raised you is like hearing that final approval before crossing through.