The soft glow of morning sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, dancing across the edge of the nightstand where Mark's phone lay. The screen was still on, a photo glowing brightly against the dull blue blanket he was wrapped in.
Mark stared at it, smile tugging at his lips.
It was their wedding photo.
Not one of those glossy, picture-perfect magazine spreads—no, this one was real. Emily's hair had frizzed a little in the summer heat, and his tie was crooked, but the way she looked at him—like he was her whole world—made the image perfect.
He reached out and touched the screen gently.
"Still the best day of my life," he murmured, eyes shining with the quiet warmth of a man truly, undeniably happy.
Today was their third wedding anniversary.
And somehow, despite all odds, all broken beginnings, and all the world had thrown at them… they had made it.
Mark and Emily had grown up together in the same run-down orphanage tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The kind of place where the roof leaked during storms, the meals were often cold, and hand-me-downs were patched three times over.
But they had each other.
Even as kids, they'd been inseparable—Emily always clung to his sleeve, bright-eyed and fearless, while Mark tried to act tough even though he was scared of thunderstorms.
"I'll protect you, even if I'm small," she used to say proudly, hands on her hips like some storybook heroine.
Mark would roll his eyes back then. But secretly, he believed her. He still did.
They shared everything growing up: crayons, books, secondhand toys, whispered dreams in the dark.
When other kids got adopted and they stayed behind, Emily would just shrug and say, "That's fine. One day, we'll make our own family."
And somehow, they did.
They supported each other through every heartbreak, every exam, every late-night shift at the convenience store while juggling school.
Mark remembered the first time he realized he loved her—not as a sister, not as a friend, but truly, deeply—as the person he wanted to share forever with.
It wasn't some dramatic moment.
It was a rainy afternoon when their heater had broken down, and Emily had thrown a huge old blanket over both of them, arms full of instant noodles and hot chocolate. She laughed when he nearly spilled the soup in his lap, and that laugh—light, sweet, real—stuck with him.
That was the moment. Just that.
He wanted to keep her warm for the rest of his life.
Years passed. They worked hard, saved harder. Mark took up fencing, first as a hobby, then as a passion. He eventually became a fencing instructor, loved by students for his patience and old-school charm.
Emily, on the other hand, had magic in her fingers. She'd always stitched her own clothes at the orphanage, turning scraps into style. That talent bloomed into something spectacular.
She became a fashion designer—a famous one, too.
Mark still remembered when her first collection hit the runway. He'd stood in the back row, jaw dropped, watching his Emily walk onto that stage in a sleek black blazer she made herself, all confidence and grace.
She found him in the crowd afterward, grabbed his hand, and whispered, "We made it."
Now, they had a small but cozy apartment with too many plants, a cluttered kitchen full of half-successful baking experiments, and a shared closet that was mostly hers.
And today, it was three years since they'd said "I do."
Mark's gaze returned to the wedding photo on his phone.
In it, Emily was mid-laugh—head tilted back, veil slipping, bouquet nearly falling out of her hands. He'd just whispered something dumb in her ear—something about how she looked like a cupcake with too much lace—and she burst out laughing.
He loved that laugh. He lived for it.
He got out of bed, stretching with a groan and a grin. On the mirror was a sticky note in glitter pen:
"Don't be late, old man 😘 - Your fashionably brilliant wife."
He chuckled. "Still calling me old, huh?"
He walked into the kitchen to make coffee, only to find the table already set.
Two mugs. French toast. And a small gift box wrapped in silver ribbon.
"Emily?" he called, blinking in surprise.
She peeked out from the hallway, already dressed in a soft green blouse and high-waisted trousers. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon—the same color she wore on their first date.
"Happy anniversary," she said, eyes crinkling with joy.
Mark crossed the room and hugged her, burying his face into her neck. "You beat me again."
"You were too busy getting sentimental with old photos," she teased, kissing his cheek.
"You saw?"
"I always do," she grinned.
They sat down to eat, talking about everything and nothing—the way only people who've loved each other a long time can.
He told her how one of his students almost jabbed himself with his own sword yesterday.
She told him how her assistant accidentally sewed a sleeve to the back of a dress.
They laughed. They smiled. They were happy.
After breakfast, Emily handed him the gift.
Inside was a handmade fencing glove—leather, sturdy, stitched with gold thread in the shape of his initials.
He was quiet for a second.
"This… Em, this must've taken you weeks."
"I wanted you to have something that protects you. You protect everyone else all the time."
His throat tightened just a little. "You're too good to me."
"No," she said, brushing his cheek. "We're good to each other. That's the point."
Mark took her hand. He looked at her—really looked—and thought again about how far they'd come.
Two orphans, once forgotten by the world, now building a life of their own.
Love. Home. Laughter.
A happy family.
[End of Chapter 1]
Certainly! Here's a vivid and emotionally rich character description for Mark and Emily
🌟 Mark
Mark is in his late twenties, tall with a lean, athletic build honed by years of training and teaching fencing. His most striking features are his jet-black hair, often slightly tousled, and his deep emerald-green eyes—the kind of gaze that feels grounded, focused, and protective.
His face is defined, yet soft around the edges when he smiles—which he does most genuinely only around Emily. He typically dresses simply: solid tees, fencing jackets, or warm cardigans, but always carries himself with quiet confidence and calm energy. There's an aura of inner strength and loyalty about him, the kind of man you'd instinctively trust in a storm.
🌟 Emily
Emily, also in her late twenties, is grace personified. She has long silver hair that flows down her back like moonlight, usually tied with a ribbon or styled with effortless elegance. Her bright blue eyes hold an ocean's depth—reflecting warmth, mischief, creativity, and a strength few see at first glance.
She's petite but poised, often dressed in clothes of her own design—stylish, bold, and vibrant, just like her personality. Whether she's working on a fashion sketch, teasing Mark, or humming while she cooks, she exudes charm and gentle brilliance. People tend to stop and look when she walks into a room—not because of fame, but because of the light she carries.
💍 Together
When they're together, it's like black and silver, green and blue—two distinct colors that somehow belong in the same painting. They complement one another, balance each other. Where Mark is quiet, Emily is lively. Where Emily dreams, Mark grounds.
And in each other's eyes, they are always home.