This post is going to feel a bit braggy, but here I go…

I married the right guy.

How do I know? Because of a thousand tiny things. Ten years’ worth of endearing, everyday idiosyncrasies. Our personalities that are wildly different, but complement each other like two ends of a seat belt snapping together. But also because of this:

Behold. My husband’s Christmas gift to me.

To understand why this is amazing, you need to know something about my husband: he’s an engineer, through and through. A numbers guy. A hands-on, do-it-yourself, problem-solving Mr. Fix It. Not a reader.

He reads a lot of news and other articles online, but not books. Never books, unless it’s a manual. And never, ever novels.

“Why take the time to read hundreds of pages when I could build something instead?”

He feels about romance novels the same way I feel about hunting, jogging as exercise, or complex math—grudging, if disdainful, acceptance. You want to do it? Cool. Just leave me out of it.

Don’t get me wrong, my husband supports my writing pursuits. He wants me to be happy and fulfilled, after all. But when I talk about my latest romance novel, I’m often greeted with a bemused stare.

Nose wrinkled, one eyebrow lifted, he nods uncertainly, not sure what to say about my story ideas. Then he shrugs. “Sounds good, honey.” Unless I happen to mention a car chase, surveillance tech, or the type of weapons featured in a particular scene, in which case he perks up considerably.

We all have our interests. Romance novels simply aren’t one of his.

Which is why I nearly died of shock when I opened my Christmas gifts to find that my non-reader husband not only bought me a Kindle—I’d mentioned in passing that I’d been thinking about making the switch from reading books on my phone to a device that’s easier on the eyes—but a mother-freaking romance novel. One that he picked out himself, and not just randomly grabbed off the shelf either.

He researched new releases online, read reviews, and consciously selected a book he thought I’d enjoy. Plus there was the eye-candy cover. “A half naked guy on the front means it’s good, right?” 

And my heart melted into a puddle on the spot.

Lest you think I’m about to say that our marriage is perfect and he’s perfect and I’m perfect and look at our perfect lives—like that person you know on Instagram who constantly posts photos of her always stylishly dressed, smiling family with obnoxious captions about how amazing their lives are (and if that’s you, knock it off! Stop pretending to the world that your highlights reel is an accurate representation of the raw footage!)—let me tell it to you straight: marriage is hard and ours isn’t perfect. No one’s is.

“Happily ever after” doesn’t magically happen once you say “I do.” It’s a lifetime of ups and downs, working through challenges together—moving, having kids (or not), switching jobs, deaths in the family, and personal struggles. Owning the fact that some days you’re going to want to smack your spouse upside the head with a rubber chicken, and recognizing that they will feel the same way about you at times because you’re no picnic either.

So what is happily ever after? I say it’s reveling in the good times, enjoying them even more because you’re sharing them with your favorite person. It’s choosing, again and again, to stay with your person despite the hard times, and accepting and loving them for exactly who they are. Even the things about them you find perplexing. And your partner doing the same for you.

In my case? It’s a non-reading, numbers-driven husband thoughtfully gifting his book-loving wife a romance novel.

That’s my happily ever after.

What’s your version? Share in the comments.