I FOUND BUTTER ON THE COUNTER—AND IT MELTED MORE THAN I EXPECTED

Later, we hosted Elsbeth and Clarissa for dinner. I was nervous, but laughter flowed. Clarissa brought pie and apologized properly. We swapped stories about Grandma Selma—her slipper rules, her porch light rituals.

As I cleared dishes, I caught Braden watching me with a soft smile.

We’d argued about butter. But we’d uncovered grief, memory, and the need to feel seen. And we’d come out stronger.

A few months later, Odessa called, laughing.
“You’ll never believe it. My husband insists ketchup belongs in the pantry—because that’s how his dad did it. I thought of you two instantly.”

I chuckled, feeling oddly grateful.

Because it was never about butter.
It was about honoring each other’s pasts while building a future together.

And that, I’ve learned, is the heart of any marriage.