I found an old Wi-Fi camera we once used as a baby monitor.

My hands shook as I hid it in the corner.

That night, when they went back into the garage, I opened the app.

Jason rolled back the rug.

Under it was a hidden door.

My stomach dropped.

He lifted it, revealing narrow stairs leading underground. He told Lizzie to wait and disappeared below. When he returned, he carried a flat package wrapped in brown paper and turned the radio up louder.

Inside were yarn, knitting needles, and a small pink sweater.

Across the front, in crooked letters:
“I have the best mom in the world.”

I covered my mouth.

They sat together for nearly an hour—knitting, laughing, fixing mistakes. Jason knew exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t new to him.

Over the next two weeks, I watched every “garage time.”
More sweaters appeared.
A green one for Lizzie.
A gray one for Jason.
And another, adult-sized, still on the needles.

The words read:
“I have the best wife in the world.”