Thirteen years (for my husband)
The kitchen is filled with the sweet smell of scones, still warm from the oven, and raisin tartes. She is standing at the window; a moment ago she had already opened her mouth to call him in, but now she stays still and silent, watching him in the garden. He kneels beside the freshly planted flower bed, his hair shining in the pale morning sun, and his hands lie on the young saplings with a tenderness and care that fills her heart with a sudden joy.
Thirteen years of shared days and cherished nights, his heartbeat beneath her ear, fast and strong when he gifts her with the strength of his body and the sweet rush of his love... slow and steady when he sleeps beside her, the reliable rhythm of her life. She has seen him holding each of their children for the first time, his eyes full of tears, speechless in his unbelieving rejoice. Elanor, Frodo, Rose, Merry, Pippin, Goldilocks, Hamfast and Daisy, their names like a song of praise for the bliss he has been for her from the moment on when they tied their lifes together.
He is one of the great heroes of Middle Earth. He saved Mr. Frodo and brought him home again, and without him their beloved Master could never have sailed to those Undying Lands. He has healed the Shire with the same care and tenderness he has given to her and to their family. She is his home, his anchor and his soul... she knows it and he has always been eager to tell her how he feels, with simple words, but she treasures them more than any elvish poetry, for they are coming from the bottom of his heart. He is hers, her strength, her joy, her husband.
She opens the window.
"Sam? Sam! Breakfast is ready! I have scones and raisin tartes for you!"
He raises his head and she can see his eyes, lightening up at the thought of her kitchen delights. She smiles, closes the window and gazes over the well prepared breakfast table.
Not to forget - he is very fond of her cooking.