Asher Brandy's wife had been on this earth for 34 long years, and there was no getting around the fact that she was getting old. Since they had met almost 25 years ago, Asher had watched with morbid fascination as Sarah's once beautiful features had slowly diminished, wrinkled, and sagged, yet another woman fallen victim to the endless march of time. Sometimes, when the light hit her just right, Asher swore he could see the very beginning of crow's feet forming under her rich, brown eyes.

Now, some people might belittle Asher for this poor treatment of his spouse, "Aging is a part of life, Asher," a friend or family member might scold, "Don't be too hard on a woman for getting older; after all, she's only a year your senior."

And to this, Asher would reply, eyes wide in horror, "Yes, but once I'm 34, that'll make her 35, and 35 is halfway to 70!"

Asher could've divorced his wife, sent his woman of multiple decades out to pasture, and found himself a new, younger lady to fraternize with—a woman with more energy, fewer wrinkles, and fewer digits on her birthdate. Asher fantasized about meeting a woman like that, of cutting loose his old baggage and starting fresh, but unfortunately, he had standards. Gosh, he hated having standards.

Sweet Gramma Ethel had been nothing short of a saint during Asher's formative years, always taking the time to cook him homemade meals, read him bedtime stories, and kiss him on the forehead whenever he felt scared. The love Asher felt for his departed grandmother was strong, and unfortunately for Asher, she'd also been a devout woman of faith who had forced her grandson to attend service with her until he graduated High School.

Something must've stuck in those 18 years of mandatory church attendance because whenever Asher thought of cheating on Sarah and breaking free of his marital obligations, the idea of his dearest grandmother watching him disapprovingly up from heaven was enough to make the grown man break out in a cold sweat.

So Asher Brandy found himself in a very odd predicament. He was stuck with a woman quickly parading past her prime, but he didn't have the guts to do anything about it. So Asher tried to make peace with the fact that his wife was getting older, that she was getting wrinkly and less attractive, and that he would be stuck with this aging woman for the rest of his life when there were so many younger and more beautiful members of the gentler sex still available.

"Everything alright, Ashy?" Asher looked up from his dinner and into the loving eyes of his faithfully wedded spouse.

"Living the dream." Replied Asher with a smirk as he lifted a fork to his mouth. "Dinner is marvelous as always, Sarah; how did I end up with such a talented woman like yourself?" Sarah blushed with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. She always loved it when Asher complimented her cooking.

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"Well, you've been working so hard at your job," muttered Sarah as she stared at the ground, never having quite grown out of her schoolgirl shyness. "It's the least I could do to say thanks for all you do for our family."

Asher reached across the table and squeezed his wife's hand, flashing one of his trademark grins. Sarah was a perceptive woman, but Asher had spent years perfecting his mask. He could be whoever he wanted whenever he needed, and right now, Asher was nothing more than a doting husband who definitely wasn't concerned about his spouse's crow's feet. Many other men bemoaned how complicated and inscrutable women were, but Asher had cracked the code long ago; you just had to say what they wanted to hear, and they were putty in your hands. No, dear, that dress doesn't make you look fat. She's not nearly as pretty as you. How about a foot rub while you tell me about your day?

Asher had put this skill of his to good use when he was younger; the women used to follow him in droves, from the sporty and adventurous to the quiet and bookish; he could have any woman he wanted; all he had to do was take his pick of the litter. It also didn't hurt that he considered himself very attractive and in excellent physical condition, even if he was slowly approaching the dreaded age of 35. But Asher wouldn't dwell on that; he was only 33 years young, after all.

But out of all the girls in the world, from the femme fatales to the country gals, he'd picked Sarah; why? Asher narrowed his eyes, staring inquisitively at his wife across the table as she partook in their home-cooked meal. He'd had nearly endless options, but Asher had chosen Sarah to have and to hold for the rest of his days. But why? Asher wracked his brain, trying to recall, but he'd only been 9 years old when they'd first met; everything back then was coated in the hazy warmth of nostalgia; details were almost impossible to reclaim.

"How would you like to spend the rest of our evening, darling?" Inquired Sarah, her soft voice pulling Asher out of his ruminations. "I've finished my paintings for the day, so I'm all yours for the entire evening." A smirk played across the corner of her mouth, and her eyes lazily wandered over to their bedroom. Sarah had made it clear from the moment they'd started dating that she wanted kids; Asher had made it equally clear he did not. He'd been able to hold her off for years, but Sarah, perhaps even more aware than Asher of her ticking biological clock, had become much more challenging to fend off as of late. Asher felt his skin grow clammy; if they started a family, Sarah wouldn't just have crow's feet but stretch marks, too. Plus, Asher had no doubt that the stresses of fatherhood would cause his luscious and full head of hair to gray prematurely!

"Work was nothing short of barbaric today, darling," replied Asher with a yawn and an exaggerated stretch. Not a complete lie; the company was going through an aggressive merger, and as one of the managers, he'd had the unenviable task of letting several employees know their services would no longer be needed. "Maybe we can try next month once all this corporate hullabaloo is behind us."

A flash of disappointment washed over Sarah's face, but she quickly hid it behind a warm smile. "I'll hold you to it, dear." She replied, respectfully changing the subject to something else. Asher smiled, grateful that she wasn't pressing the subject. Sarah had always been a kind wife to Asher; it's a shame she was so old.