One screen at a time, in pastel, asking for nothing.
A soft-coloured apology you move through rather than scroll. It opens sealed, so they read it when they are ready. Then: the thing you actually did, the messages you sent with the truth written under them, a photo wall with the honest line on the back of each one, a gentle minute of a game that makes its own point, a letter that takes the whole screen, and a list of small changes anyone could hold you to.
What’s inside
Each one is optional — switch off anything that is not your story and it disappears from the page entirely.
They open it when they are ready, not when it lands on their phone.
The specific thing, with the times. No “things have been mad”. That is a reason, and a reason is not an apology.
The message you actually sent on the front. What was really going on underneath it.
Gentle, and honest about being a small illustration. Nothing here is a celebration.
The Sundays that did happen. The front is the photo; the back is the line you owe them.
Something they can actually put on, not a grand gesture.
Sealed until they choose it. It takes the whole screen when it opens.
Concrete and checkable, and small enough to survive a bad week.
Short lines, set large. One line per line break.
What you get
Your page starts finished. You replace our words with yours rather than facing a blank box.
Unguessable, never indexed, and printable onto a card so there is something to hand over.
Lock it, or schedule it so it only opens at the exact moment you want it to.
Fix a typo after they have opened it. Changes go live on the same link.
Warm, playful or literary — switch any time without losing a word you have written.
One payment, no renewal. The page stays exactly where you left it.
Palettes
Or set your own colours, type and scene order — included with every page.
You might also want
The long one. A slow scroll through the whole thing — the day it started counting, the moments you both remember differently, the apology you have been meaning to make properly, seven promises, sealed notes for later, and a surprise at the end. Built for anniversaries that deserve more than a caption.
4.8(312)The most playable one. A quiz neither of you can lose, a path to walk together, pairs to match, a screen of drifting flowers to hunt through for the one that is actually yours, and a letter that types itself out at the end. Built to be done side by side rather than read alone.
4.9(148)The one you play through rather than read. A plane goes over with their name on it, then a tree you grow by hand with a line waiting at every stage, balloons to pop, the scrapbook, the whole story walked in order, a letter that opens like real paper, and candles to blow out before the confetti. Nothing moves on until they are ready.
4.9(64)Make one in about twenty minutes
Pay once, keep it for life. No subscription.
