It was such a beautiful day. She could stare out at her sunlit garden all day long. She probably would, if there weren’t chores to do around the house - but she did have all day long to get those done. She could take her time, and enjoy the view from the kitchen window for as long as she liked.

Although, she realised, her hands were getting quite wet and wrinkly. Reluctantly pulling her eyes away from the sublime scenery, she finished drying the cream-coloured plate and placed it in the pile of matching crockery to the left of the sink. Then she fished a fork out of the soapy water and began to run her cloth over that, too, with the same languid lack of urgency.

She soon found herself gazing absently out of the window again. The sight of her carefully-curated garden illuminated by the bright summer sun, all the colourful flowers looking that much more vibrant and vivid, was just irresistible.

It really was such a beautiful day.

She was shaken out of her reverie by the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Grinning self-consciously, she dried the fork and set it aside. Her husband would probably tease her for being so distractible, and while she didn’t particularly mind that, she didn’t want to make herself too easy a target for him.

Although, it suddenly occurred to her - why was he still here? She glanced up at the clock, just to be sure she wasn’t wrong about the time of day. It was so easy to lose track, after all... No, she was right - it was gone nine o’clock. He should’ve left by now.

As he strode into the kitchen, she turned around with her hands on her hips and gave him a quizzical smile. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, darling, but shouldn’t you be at work?”

He looked nonplussed. “It’s Sunday. I have the day off.”

She gasped, clapping a hand to her forehead. “Oh, of course! Don’t mind me, getting my days in a muddle,” she giggled bashfully.

He grinned fondly, stepping towards her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Poor thing,” he teased. “I would’ve thought that sharp mind of yours could at least keep track of what day it is...!”

She pouted. “Well, it’s not my fault! They do tend to blend together when you don’t have a job.”

He chuckled lightly, leaning in for a tender kiss, while one of his hands slid behind her and gave her bum an affectionate squeeze. Then he pulled back and began to wander away.

“What are your plans for the day?” she asked mildly, already turning back to the dishes.

“I thought I might head down to the golf club, see if anyone’s up for a game. If not, I could practice on the driving range for a bit.”

“Sure.” That meant he could be out for anywhere between one hour and four. Plenty of time to get the house in order. Then she could spend the afternoon sunbathing, maybe read a book - and if he was in the mood, and not too worn out from his morning exercise, perhaps the two of them could do something more intimate in the evening...

Her eyebrows arched mischieviously at the thought. They were intimate often enough, but her ardour for her husband only seemed to grow stronger. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could wait until the evening. She was tempted to throw herself at him right now, to throw her pretty summer dress off over her head and demand he take her, hard and fast and rough, on the dining table.

Biting her lip at the vulgar fantasy, she instead said, “Have a great time, dear! Love you.”

He beamed over his shoulder at her as he headed off towards the front of the house. “I love you too.” Not long after, as she returned to the dishes, she heard the front door close.

She was almost done with the dishes they’d used the previous evening, after which she needed to tidy and vacuum the living room. Then she could start planning their meal for that night, and ensuring she had all the necessary ingredients for a delicious Sunday mea-

She nearly dropped the plate she was holding in shock. It was Sunday! Never mind their evening meal, she needed to cook a roast for lunch!

How could she forget? Hurriedly relinquishing the plate and letting it sink back into the suds, she flung her cloth on the counter and spun around, darting out of the room. She needed to get to the shops as fast as she could and pick up a roast, with all the trimmings. She couldn’t be sure the local butcher’s would have everything she needed - they’d probably have sold most of their meat by yesterday - so she’d have to make do with the supermarket. Cursing her forgetfulness, she grabbed her car keys and dashed outside, barely pausing to slam the front door behind her.

She’d made it across their driveway to her car when she came to an abrupt halt, frowning in confusion. Wait - had she forgotten...? She had a sudden sense that she didn’t need to go shopping - that everything she needed was already available. Memories were drifting into her head - memories of going to the butcher’s and buying a hefty piece of meat, of collecting fresh potatoes and vegetables from the grocer’s... But the images were hazy, dreamlike, hard to visualise clearly. Were they real memories, or imagined?

Turning, she slowly made her way back inside, her frown fixed on her face. She returned to the kitchen, approached the fridge almost apprehensively, and pulled the door open.

A laugh of relief burst free of her mouth. On the shelf directly in her sightline was a thick slab of pork, and below were carrots, peas, sweetcorn, broccoli, and other assorted vegetables. Glancing over her shoulder at the pantry on the other side of the kitchen, she spotted a full bag of potatoes through the ajar door.

So she had bought all the components for their roast lunch, after all. She must’ve gone yesterday. Now she just needed to prepare it - which would have to be her top priority for the rest of the morning, so it’d all be ready by the time her hubby got home. Cleaning and tidying could wait until the afternoon.

So much for my sunbathing session, she thought with a smirk as she shut the fridge door. Ah well, there was always tomorrow.

As she crossed the kitchen to fetch the potatoes, her smile faded as it occurred to her just how weird that was. It was one thing momentarily forgetting what day it was - it was quite another to completely forget a shopping trip she took less than 24 hours earlier.

She really hadn’t felt all that sharp lately, she realised abstractly. Ever since moving out to the countryside, her mind had felt a little slower and softer. It hadn’t felt like a bad thing, though - it had been kind of nice, like she was sleepwalking through each day. Now that she thought about it, her husband had seemed a little out of it lately, too.

It was only natural, she supposed, out here in this quiet rural area. The sleepy surroundings were having an effect on them, putting them into a dreamlike daze. It hadn’t bothered her before - but she hadn’t had a memory lapse this significant before. At least, she didn’t think she had...

She shook her head to try and dispel the fog in her mind as she picked up the potato bag. She certainly never used to be so absent-minded. No wonder she hadn’t gone back to work since the move. She needed all her faculties if she was to go back to being a -

She came to a halt once again, staring into space with a mystified expression.

Being a what?

What was her job? What did she do for work? She’d had a career, she was sure of that, one she intended to go back to eventually. But what was it?

Her eyes narrowed as she tried hard to think, to call to mind what her profession used to be. It felt like the information was somewhere in her brain, but every time she reached for it, it slipped out of reach. Her pupils darted from side to side erratically, as if scanning the space before her for clues.

A sunbeam caught her attention, motes of dust drifting and swirling within the shaft of light. She found herself watching them twist and turn in mid-air. Her face relaxed, her frown smoothing out, her jaw going slack. She stood and spectated, enchanted by the sight of the little flecks spiralling around and around...

A heavy thud brought her to her senses. The potato bag had slipped from her hand and landed on the tiled floor.

She tutted and smiled. She was so spacey today! For a moment, she couldn’t even recall what she’d been thinking about before the sunlit specks of dust had distracted her. Then she remembered - the roast. She had to get it all ready by lunchtime. No more drifting off, staring at random things - she had to get cracking.

Picking up the bulging bag, she trotted away to peel its contents.

***

“Da da dum, da da da dum, da daa daa dum,” she hummed as she hung one of her husband’s white shirts on the washing line, “mm-hmm hh-hmm hh-hh-hm-mm...”

Then she paused, grunted with irritation, shook her head hard as if trying to dislodge something inside, and continued hanging up the laundry in silence.

She’d had this tune stuck in her head for hours, the same few notes circulating around and around as she struggled to identify them. It was driving her mad! She was sure she knew the song - it felt very familiar - but for some reason she just couldn’t pin it down. She’d tried to put it out of her mind and concentrate on her chores, but kept finding herself singing, humming or whistling to herself as she worked. No matter how often she stopped herself, she invariably started up again as soon as she focused on a task.

As she hung another of her spouse’s shirts, this one a vivid shade of purple, a sudden flash of memory struck her. He was on a dance floor, wearing this shirt, dancing energetically and singing passionately. He looked like an utter goofball, but didn’t seem aware of it, putting every inch of his soul into the song - which was directed at her. He had been serenading her, she realised.

“I don’t care who you are,” he warbled, “where you’re from, what you did, as long -”

She gasped. That was it! The earworm that had tormented her all morning! ‘As Long As You Love Me’. She could’ve kissed the purple shirt in gratitude.

A little more of the memory became clear to her, now that the song had clicked into place. She couldn’t recall the specific circumstances, but she knew it was some kind of event. There’d been dozens of other people watching in the background, too far back and too hazy for her to make them out in her mental image. All her focus was on her partner’s performance.

She smiled adoringly at the memory. What a dork! She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about that. It was a pretty significant moment for them...

Although, when had it been? They must’ve been dating for a while at that point; it wasn’t the sort of public display one makes when they’ve only been with their partner for a couple of weeks or months... They might even have been engaged by then. It certainly wasn’t when he’d proposed - that had been a much more private affair, and he’d -

She froze, her eyes widening.

What had he done?

How did he propose to her, exactly...?

Where were they? What were they doing?

Why couldn’t she remember?

Had he taken her to dinner at a fancy restaurant? Did he propose on a hike, in a forest or up a cliff, the scenery providing a beautiful backdrop for such a pivotal moment? What?

She was starting to panic, her breaths quick and shaky. She should remember her own engagement. What was wrong with her?!

She should call her husband. Maybe she was having some kind of episode, a stroke or a seizure or something, and she needed to be taken to the hospital as soon as -

BZZZZZ!

She shrieked and leapt about a foot into the air as something buzzed loudly past her ear. Clapping her hand over her chest, she laughed at the sight of a bumble bee flying past the clothes line.

Her heart pounded beneath her palm. She took a few deep breaths, calming herself down. Her composure restored, she picked up the empty laundry crate and sauntered back through her garden towards the house, shaking her head in exasperation at her own silliness. Yes, she’d been startled, but it was only a bee. She couldn’t quite believe she’d got so het up.

Putting her moment of shock behind her, she stepped indoors once more, singing softly, “What you did... as long as you love me...”

***

“Do you want to go away this weekend? Since you have Saturday afternoon off...”

Sitting in the armchair in the living room, her husband looked up from the book he was reading and smiled. “Sure. Where were you thinking?”

“I thought we could go up to Ben Nevis,” she suggested, stepping fully into the room with a drink in each hand. “We could leave as soon as you get home, camp on the foothills overnight, and then climb at least part of it on Sunday.” She set his cider down on the coffee table, raising her rosé to her lips and taking a sip.

“That does sound fun. Bit of an adventure! I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“I have, I used to hike all the time,” she remarked blithely. “I’ve been to -”

She stopped abruptly, frowning. “I, er... I’ve been, I’ve been to - um...” Her voice got smaller, fading away as she realised she didn’t have an end to that sentence. A chill went through her as she entirely failed to call any previous hiking trips to mind.

Did she hike all the time? She’d felt sure she had when she’d said it - but her certainty was crumbling under the lack of any information to back that up.

Sitting down on the sofa, she forced a smile onto her face. “I’ve been to lots of places. So don’t worry, I’ll take the lead. We’ll have a brilliant time!”

“I’m sure we will, sweetheart,” he replied fondly. “I’m looking forward to it already. Do we have a tent, though? I can’t remember... If we did, I’ve not seen it since the move.”

Do we have a tent? If she was the seasoned adventurer she’d claimed, surely she had one - but her brain stubbornly refused to confirm one way or the other. She gazed into the middle distance as if it held the answer to every question.

Before she could summon up any kind of answer, he continued casually, “It’s probably in the cupboard under the stairs. I’ll have a look tomorrow afternoon, if you remind me.”

“Of course,” she said as warmly as she could, still hiding her growing worry beneath a façade of positivity.

As he returned his attention to his book, she took another swig of her wine and massaged her temples. What was going on? Her mind felt so clouded, her memories distant and indistinct. When she reached for them, they slipped between her fingers. It was like trying to hold sunlight - or mist.

The fire, freshly stoked by her husband less than ten minutes earlier, crackled behind its grate. She sipped her drink, working up the nerve to pose a question that might test the stability of her peaceful existence - which felt more fragile the more she thought about it, the more she tried to recall any details from her past.

“Honey, when was our last trip?” she asked at last.

He lifted his eyes from the page before him again. “D’you know, I’m not certain,” he mused, staring thoughtfully at the fireplace. “It must’ve been our honeymoon, I suppose...”

But his expression seemed slightly troubled as he gazed into the flames. She wondered if he was wondering the same thing that was making her throat constrict with worry - where did we go for our honeymoon?

Several long silent seconds passed as she watched the reflection of the blazing hearth glimmer in his eyes. His face slowly softened, his gaze going glazed. Eventually he met her eyes, his mouth twitching into a wry grin. “What?”

“What?” she echoed.

“Why are you staring, sweetheart?”

She shrugged and smiled, even as she heard the oven beep in the distance. “What, can’t a doting wife admire her handsome husband once in a while?” she beamed, rising to her feet.

“Only if he can admire his wife right back,” he chuckled, his eyes roving up and down her form.

Giggling, she did a little spin as she walked, practically pirouetting across the room, flaunting her figure for her husband. Then she trotted out of the room, dinner preparations for herself and her husband her only care in the world.

***

She let out a high-pitched cry, her hands clutching the mattress in a vice grip, as he buried himself to the hilt inside her with one final thrust. A split second later he gave a bestial grunt, and she felt him release a torrent inside her. Panting and gasping, he pulled out and staggered back, sinking into a nearby chair. She quickly crossed her legs to hold his seed inside her, the merest trickle escaping as she did so.

Humming with pleasure, she wrapped her arms around her bare chest, gazing across at her husband as he retrieved his discarded underwear from the floor of their bedroom. He shot a glance back at her, grinning as he met her eyes. “Well, that felt like a good start to our new project,” he quipped.

“Mmm,” she agreed, enjoying the warm fuzz filling her brain and body, and the creamy wetness of her brimful crevice. “Mission... very much... accomplished, for the morning...”

They’d been talking, with equal eagerness, about starting their family. Given that he had the whole weekend off from work for once, and she happened to be ovulating, they’d decided to take full advantage and begin babymaking in earnest. She traced her fingertips over her belly, daring to imagine that they’d already been successful. But even if they hadn’t, it was only Saturday morning. They had almost two full days to try, and intended to take every opportunity.

“Might need a little rest before attempt two,” he laughed wearily, pulling his briefs back into place.

“Same,” she snickered, snuggling deeper into the soft white bedsheet. “Need recovery time...”

“Yeah, I feel pretty out of it,” he smirked, reaching for the next item of clothing on the carpet. “Think I knocked something loose in my brain in the middle of that...!”

“Tell me about it,” she murmured. “Don’t think I could even spell my name right now...”

The words had barely left her lips before she had a thought - or, more accurately, she didn’t have a thought - that snapped her straight out of her afterglow daze. She sat bolt upright, staring at her husband in consternation.

He paused in place, his trousers hanging from one hand. “Honey? What’s the matter?”

Honey. Love. Sweetheart. Darling. They kept calling each other by those terms of endearment.

It was almost as if, subconsciously, they were aware they didn’t have anything else to work with.

She swallowed, forcing herself to ask the question that was pulling out the ground from underneath her. “Darling,” she said tremulously, “what’s my name...?”

He gave her a look of bemused amusement that made her think she was, as she’d feared, losing her mind - but it evaporated almost instantly, replaced by a perturbed expression as he responded, “Um... it, it’s - uh...”

“What’s your name?” she pressed him.

His eyes widened. “I - I’m... ah, I, I don’t -”

Her lower lip trembled. “I don’t like this,” she said in a small voice.

He stared at her with a face that looked carved from granite. “Me neither. Something’s... wrong here...”

“Why can’t we remember?” She scrambled to her feet, heedless of the cum dripping from between her legs, and ran her hands through her wavy brunette mane, her breathing growing increasingly rapid. She locked eyes with her husband, and saw her own panic reflected back at her in his eyes. “I - I can’t remember my own name. Or yours. Are you sure you can’t -?”

“No, I can’t either...”

“What else? What else have we forgotten? I - I don’t remember my birthday, I don’t... I don’t know how old I -”

With a choking sob, her voice failed her, her eyes brimming with tears. She couldn’t call to mind any memory that occurred to her. Her parents’ names and faces. Whether she had any siblings. Where she grew up. Her friends. The school she attended...

It was as if everything outside the house, beyond the four walls of her and her husband’s home, had vanished from the universe, leaving no trace in her brain. She couldn’t recall anything before they’d moved in.

And she didn’t even know when they’d moved in, how long they’d lived there. There was no information in her head except the most basic details - she lived in this house; she was a stay-at-home wife to the man before her; he was her husband whom she loved, who cared and provided for her; he worked while she took care of their home; they were trying for a baby together.

That was it. She had nothing else. Oh, except that it was Saturday morning.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t summon up any other knowledge or memories of herself or her husband. By the looks of his stormy expression, he was having the same internal struggle, with the same lack of success.

“We need to go to the hospital,” she said decisively. “There’s clearly something wrong with both of us. Maybe we have some kind of... brain injury...?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he responded, his agitation clear. “We can’t both have a brain injury with the exact same effects, can we?”

“Well maybe we’ve been breathing in something harmful.” Her eyes went as wide as saucers as that idea took root. “Maybe there’s some kind of poisonous substance leaking into this house... Something in the air that’s affecting us, damaging our memories!”

He looked around frantically as if trying to spot whatever invisible taint there was in the air. “Then we r-really need to get out of here,” he stammered, grabbing his shirt and pulling it on. “It’s not safe to be here.”

“Right.” She was about to follow him to the door when she realised she was still naked. “Oh, give me a minute - I’m right behind you.” He hesitated, glancing back at her worriedly, clearly reluctant to leave her behind in what they were presuming to be a hazardous environment. “Go,” she urged him. “Get the car started. I’ll be thirty seconds, tops.” His eyes seeming to mist over and lose focus, he nodded and backed out of the doorway.

As she scrambled to dress herself, she heard him pounding down the stairs. Not bothering with underwear, she threw on a teal T-shirt over her head and yanked up a pair of denim shorts. Even in those scant seconds, she struggled to remember anything about herself. Her job. Her age. Her mum’s name. Her own damn name...

Nothing. It was hopeless. She had no idea who she was. Or who her husband was.

It made her nauseous with fear - at least, she hoped it was the fear causing the nausea, and not the potentially poisonous air. Or morning sickness. She let out a despairing laugh, although it sounded, and felt, closer to a sob. How was it possible that only a few minutes ago they’d been discussing having a child? They couldn’t very well bring a baby into their lives if they didn’t even know their own names!

Tears rolling down her cheeks, she hurried downstairs, to find her husband waiting patiently by the front door. As she approached, he held up his car keys.

“Ready when you are,” he said airily, and it was only then that she noticed his significantly more relaxed demeanour. His easy smile shifted into a sympathetic look as he saw her face. “Oh, but look at you! Poor thing, you must be really suffering. Maybe we should reschedule, if your hay fever’s this bad...”

Hay fever? She stared at him in confusion, her vision blurred. “What d’you mean, reschedule? We - we have to go, now -”

“Well, we can’t very well have an eye test if your eyes are streaming, love...!”

“Eye test? No, we’re going to the hospital!”

He raised an eyebrow. “The hospital? That seems extreme - it’s not as if either of us are going blind in the next twenty seconds! No, I made an appointment at that private optician, remember?”

Remember? Remember? Remember?

The word echoed in her muddled mind like a taunt. “No, no, no, that’s not - that’s not what we’re doing,” she said desperately, grabbing onto her husband’s upper arms and staring into his eyes, as if to make him understand by force of will. “We’re - we’re going to -”

She faltered, her chest tightening as she found she couldn’t finish her sentence.

“We need to...” she tried again. “There’s something...”

But she couldn’t get the words out. She couldn’t find the thought. She’d lost it somewhere in the fog inside her head, and all she was left with was this feeling of all-consuming dread.

“There’s something wrong,” she managed to gasp out as the last of her composure crumbled, and she collapsed into her husband’s arms, bawling like a baby.

“Heyyy,” he said soothingly, rubbing his palm over her back as she clung to him, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, soaking his shirt with her dismayed tears. “It’s alright, don’t worry, love. It’s OK, I understand. It’s the hormones, on top of your allergies. It’s perfectly natural, it’ll pass. C’mon, sh-sh-shhh...”

Slowly her sobbing stopped, and she stepped out of his embrace, sniffling and wiping her face with her hands. “Oh my goodness, the pollen today,” she groaned. “It’s awful...”

“I really think we should reschedule,” her husband said. “We could always see if they’ve got a spot available tomorrow...”

“No no, we should keep our appointment,” she insisted, fetching a packet of tissues from the mantelpiece. “I’ll be fine once the antihistamines kick in.” She paused, frowning. “Did I take one today...?”

“I’m pretty sure you did, first thing this morning.”

She stared into space for a second, thinking back, and then nodded, her frown clearing. “Right, yes, I remember now. OK, give me two minutes, then we’ll go.”

She quickly darted into the kitchen so she could blow her nose and discard the used hanky. Her husband watched her go, chewing his lip anxiously, letting his concern for her show now that she was out of sight.

Her behaviour had been so erratic in recent days. It wasn’t like her. When they’d first moved out here, she’d seemed so contented, relishing the tranquility of the village. She’d spent much of her time alone at home, tending to their new house, apparently without a care in the world. He truly believed she was happy with their new life.

Then these... lapses started. First, starting to lose track of the days, which she’d put down to them being so similar that they were starting to blend together. Then there’d been that conversation about their trip to Ben Nevis, and she’d been disturbed to realise she didn’t remember any previous trips she’d taken - she probably didn’t think he’d noticed that, but he had. And then there was this morning’s breakdown, her most significant episode yet.

He didn’t want her upsetting herself like this.

He didn’t want her noticing how little she remembered about her past.

Thankfully, these spells of clarity didn’t seem to last long - all she needed was a little time alone with her thoughts, and perhaps a subtle nudge from him, and she’d soon forget there was anything to worry about and lapse back into oblivious complacency. But that did little to reassure him. This was the third instance in the last week where she’d become aware of her amnesiac state - that he even knew about. Perhaps there’d been more while he was at work.

He couldn’t keep faking his own mental struggles, to avoid her suspicions until her programming took hold again. He simply wasn’t a good enough actor to sustain the pretence, even to fool her dulled mind. Moreover, he couldn’t rely on her conditioning continuing to reassert itself - especially if she managed to contact someone and alert them of her plight before it did. What if it happened while he wasn’t with her? What if it happened while she was out of the house? What if she was at the grocery store when she realised she didn’t know her own birthday, and her distressed state drew attention from other customers?

No, this had to be dealt with right now. He needed to get her to the ‘private optician’ and put her through the system again as soon as possible. And this time, he had to make it airtight.

He sighed heavily. If she’d only agreed to go out with him in the first place, years ago, then none of this would’ve been necessary. No matter how many times he asked, she just kept rejecting him. He simply couldn’t understand why she refused to acknowledge her own feelings. He’d thought a big romantic gesture, serenading her with a Backstreet Boys song at her best friend’s wedding reception, would finally win her over, but her reaction was bizarrely hostile.

He’d had to resort to the system. She left him with no choice. It was the only way to clear all other distractions from her mind, so she could confront and accept her true feelings for him. And now she was his wife, and they would live in domestic bliss forever after... once he’d reinforced her mental programming, to keep her safe from her own rebellious brain.

She strode back down the corridor to the front door, still sniffling slightly, her eyes a bit red, but otherwise giving every sign that she’d recovered from her attack of ‘hay fever’. Her purse was clutched in one hand. Inside, among other things, was her driving licence, which read ‘DAISY RADCLIFFE’. He had his own, which read ‘GRANT RADCLIFFE’, in the leather wallet in his trouser pocket. They weren’t their real names, of course - he’d just needed to make identification for them in case of emergency, like getting pulled over by the police for inadvertent speeding, for instance. ‘Daisy’ didn’t even need to remember her fake name, or his for that matter. She’d rarely need it.

He was the only person in her life, and he only called her by pet names like ‘darling’ and ‘sweetheart’. And when their children arrived, they’d know her as ‘Mummy’. She didn’t need anything else. And neither did he. He wanted no identity except that of her husband, and the father of their children.

His wife approached him and took his hand, smiling placidly. “Shall we? The quicker we get this done, the quicker we can carry on with our project.”

He blinked in surprise. “Our... project?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Making a baby,” she said slowly, shaking her head in bemusement. “Honestly, dear. You’re so forgetful sometimes!”

He snickered. “Of course. Silly of me.”

The woman sometimes known as ‘Daisy’ - once known by a different name, who now knew neither - turned, still laughing lightly at his absent-mindedness, and opened the front door. She was greeted by warm sunshine, the sight of the vibrant green grass on their front lawn, and the sound of birds chirping in the near distance. She smiled, the appealing view enticing her to step outside, pulling her husband along by the hand.

It was such a beautiful day.