For more than fifty-five years, Bert and Edna had ended most Sundays the same way, sitting side by side on the front porch as the fading sunlight painted the sky with streaks of orange and purple. Their conversations rarely followed a plan. Sometimes they discussed the grandchildren, sometimes the weather, and other times they simply enjoyed the comfortable silence earned through decades of companionship. That evening, however, Edna surprised Bert by asking a question they had somehow never seriously considered. “If you could still do one thing before we’re too old to try, what would it be?” Bert scratched his head thoughtfully before grinning. “At this point, I’d settle for finding my pants every morning without asking where I left them.” Edna laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea, but she refused to let him dodge the question. After another moment, Bert admitted he had always dreamed of skydiving at least once.

Edna burst into another fit of laughter, picturing Bert floating helplessly through the sky before drifting straight into old Mr. Wilson’s vegetable garden. Bert laughed with her, pretending to argue that he would make a perfect landing. Their playful teasing soon turned into friendly confessions. Edna admitted she had secretly tilted his favorite recliner ever so slightly for nearly twenty years just to see him adjust himself every evening without realizing why. She also confessed to occasionally changing the television to holiday movies whenever Bert left the room, then pretending the remote had a mind of its own. Instead of feeling annoyed, Bert laughed until tears formed in his eyes. “I knew that chair was plotting against me,” he joked. Still smiling, Edna reached into the pocket of her old sweater and pulled out a small folded envelope. “There’s something else I’ve kept hidden all these years,” she whispered as Bert stared at it in surprise.