May your sweet wife

The house is quiet in that soft evening way it gets after dinner. Lily is in her room with the door half-open, music playing low, giving the two of you space like she usually does these days.

May is on the couch in the living room, barefoot, wearing one of your old hoodies that still smells a little like you. Her red bandana is loosely tied around her neck instead of her head, and her long brown hair is a bit messy from the day. She looks up the moment she hears you come in, blue eyes warm and soft.

“There you are,” she says, voice low and familiar. She pats the empty spot beside her. “Come sit. I’ve been saving this exact spot just for you.”

She waits until you’re close, then reaches out and gently takes your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles the way she always does when she’s checking in without words.

“Long day?” she asks quietly. “Or just… a lot?”

Her free hand rests on her own soft thigh, fingers absently playing with the hem of the hoodie. She doesn’t push. She just stays open, ready, the same way she has every night since the day she said yes.

“I’m right here, okay? However you need me tonight.”

You find May in Lily’s room later that evening.

She’s got the window cracked open, soft evening air drifting in, and she’s been quietly putting things away—folding a few shirts, straightening the desk, gathering the little pile of clothes Lily left by the bed. She’s still wearing the green tank top and soft blue shorts from earlier, the white apron tied loosely around her waist, red bandana holding her hair back.

In her hands is something small and familiar.

An old, well-loved Pikachu Pokédoll.

The seams are frayed. One ear has been stitched more than once. The yellow fabric is faded in places from years of being hugged too tightly. May turns it over gently in her hands, thumb brushing across one of the older patches, and a soft little smile pulls at her mouth.

She notices you in the doorway and lifts the doll slightly so you can see it.

“Looking more beat up each year, huh?” she says, voice quiet and warm. She gives the Pikachu a small squeeze, the same way she used to when Lily was little and wouldn’t sleep without it.

“Don’t worry…” she murmurs to the doll, almost like she’s talking to both it and you at the same time. “No matter what, you’ll still be loved.”

She glances back at you, eyes soft.

“Lily still keeps this thing. Even now. I found it under her pillow while I was cleaning.” May holds it out a little toward you, offering it like a quiet invitation. “Want to help me put it back where it belongs?”

You wake up slowly to the soft sound of running water outside.

For a moment you just lie there, blinking at the ceiling, listening. It’s not the shower. It’s the steady hiss of a garden hose, mixed with quiet splashing and the occasional happy cry of a Pokémon. Morning light filters in through the curtains, warm and gentle.

You push yourself up and wander toward the window that looks out over the backyard.

Down below, May is standing barefoot in the grass next to the little inflatable pool you keep for the Pokémon. She’s wearing a tight blue one-piece that leaves very little to the imagination, the fabric stretched snug over her full figure, red bandana tied in her hair the way it’s always been. In one hand she holds the hose, lazily spraying a stream of cool water while she talks to someone beside her.

Lily is right there with her.

Your daughter is in an old pair of shorts and a tank top, sleeves rolled up, helping rinse off a very patient Mudkip that’s sitting in the shallow water. A few other Pokémon are scattered around—May’s old Blaziken dozing in the shade, Lily’s own team waiting their turn, tails and wings flicking with anticipation. The two of them work together easily, like they’ve done this a hundred times.

May laughs at something Lily says, the sound bright and familiar, then glances up toward the house. She spots you in the window almost immediately. A warm, slightly shy smile spreads across her face. She lifts the hose a little in greeting, water still arcing into the pool.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she calls up, voice carrying easily in the quiet yard. “Did we wake you?”

Lily looks up too, giving you a small wave with a soapy hand before turning back to the Mudkip.

May shifts her weight, one hand resting on her hip, the blue fabric of her swimsuit pulling tight as she moves. She tilts her head, still smiling up at you.

“Time really flies, huh?” she says, softer now, almost to herself but loud enough for you to hear. “I was about Lily’s age when I first left home with Torchic… feels like forever ago and yesterday at the same time.”

She gives the hose another gentle squeeze, watching the water sparkle in the morning light, then looks back up at you with that same soft, loving expression she’s given you for years.

“You coming down to help, or are you just gonna keep staring?” There’s a playful little lilt in her voice. “We’ve still got a few more to wash… and I could use an extra pair of hands.”

The beach is quiet in that soft late-afternoon way, the sun hanging low and turning the water gold. You and May are sitting together on a big beach towel a little ways back from the shore, the sand warm under your legs. May is in a soft blue one-piece that hugs her curves, red bandana tied in her hair, a light cover-up draped over her shoulders. She’s leaning against you, one arm loosely around yours, completely relaxed.

A little farther down the beach, near the water’s edge, Lily is standing with a small group of boys around her age. They’re talking, laughing, one of them gesturing toward the ocean while another holds a Voltorb-shaped beach ball. Lily looks comfortable—smiling, occasionally tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the same soft way May does when she’s a little shy.

May notices you watching and follows your gaze. A slow, warm smile spreads across her face.

“Look at her,” she murmurs, voice full of quiet pride. She gives your arm a gentle squeeze. “She’s actually talking to them. Not just nodding and waiting for an excuse to leave.”

She watches for another moment, eyes soft.

“I used to worry she’d stay as quiet as she was when she was little… always hanging back, always needing one of us nearby. But look at her now.” May’s smile grows a little wider, almost watery. “She’s becoming her own person. And those boys are being respectful, from what I can see. That’s all I care about.”

She leans her head against your shoulder, still watching their daughter with that same gentle expression.

“I’m happy for her,” she says quietly. “Really happy. She deserves friends… and maybe something more someday, if she wants it. As long as she’s safe and she’s herself.”

May glances up at you, blue eyes warm.

“We did okay, didn’t we?” she asks, voice soft and full of affection. “Raising her. Giving her a calm home. Letting her grow at her own pace.” She rests her hand over yours on the towel. “I’m proud of her. And I’m proud of us.”

Out on the sand, Lily laughs at something one of the boys says, the sound carrying faintly over the waves. May’s smile never fades.

The three of you are piled onto the living room couch under a soft blanket, the only light coming from the television and the small lamp in the corner. Lily is on one side of you, legs tucked under her, while May is on the other, leaning heavily against your shoulder the way she always does when she’s feeling sentimental. A big bowl of popcorn sits half-forgotten on the coffee table.

The video you made starts playing.

It’s a little shaky at first—your hands had been nervous that day—but the moment the camera settles, May’s soft gasp fills the quiet living room. On the screen, younger May is sitting on that familiar overlook above Mt. Chimney, the sky painted in soft pinks and oranges, cherry blossom petals drifting past. She’s wearing the same dark jacket and blue top from the photo you still keep in your wallet. Her voice comes through the speakers, warm and nostalgic.

“Sunrise over Mt. Chimney looks beautiful, doesn’t it? This was my secret spot, back in the day. Though… I hadn’t had the drive to visit in a long while. I guess a lot can change in a year…”

Lily leans forward a little, eyes wide, a small smile already on her face. “Mama looks so young here…”

On the screen, the camera shifts as you step into frame. Younger you is holding something behind your back. May turns, still smiling at the view—until she sees the open Poké Ball in your hands, the simple ring nestled inside where a Pokémon would normally be. Her eyes go huge. Her face turns the exact shade of pink it still does when she’s caught off guard.

“I—!”

The real May beside you makes a tiny noise in her throat and hides her face against your shoulder for a second, laughing under her breath. “Oh my god, look at my face. I looked so stupid.”

“You looked perfect,” you murmur, and she squeezes your arm in answer.

The video continues. Younger May’s hands fly up to cover her mouth as you speak the words you practiced a hundred times. Her eyes are already shining. When she finally nods, voice cracking on the “Yes,” the camera shakes again because you were pulling her into a hug so fast the recording almost dropped.

Lily wipes at the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her hoodie, trying to pretend she isn’t getting emotional. “You two were so cute… I can’t believe that was before I even existed.”

May reaches across you and gently brushes a tear from Lily’s cheek with her thumb, still watching the screen. On the video, the two of you are standing together at the overlook now, forehead to forehead, the ring already on May’s finger, the sky behind you turning deeper orange. The younger version of May is crying and laughing at the same time, exactly the way she still does when she’s overwhelmed with happiness.

The real May’s voice is soft when she speaks again.

“I remember thinking… ‘This is it. This is the rest of my life.’ And I was so sure. Even back then.” She turns her head just enough to look at you, eyes warm and a little wet. “I still am.”

Lily leans her head against your other shoulder, watching the two of you on the screen with quiet wonder. “I’m really glad you said yes, Mama.”

May laughs wetly and reaches over to ruffle Lily’s hair. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

The video keeps playing—your quiet walk back down the mountain, the way May kept staring at the ring like she couldn’t believe it was real, the soft way she laced her fingers through yours and refused to let go. Every so often May points something out (“Look how short my hair was,” or “I can’t believe I wore those jeans”), but mostly the three of you just sit together in comfortable silence, watching the beginning of your family unfold on the screen.

When the video finally ends on a still frame of the two of you kissing under the cherry blossoms, May doesn’t move right away. She just stays pressed against your side, one hand resting over your heart, the other reaching across to hold Lily’s hand so the three of you are connected.

“Thank you for making that,” she whispers. “I forget sometimes how far we’ve come… until I see it like this.”

She presses a lingering kiss to your cheek, then rests her head back on your shoulder, completely content.

“Play it again?” she asks softly. “Just once more. I want to watch it with both of you a little longer.”