A week ago, my husband and I, both in our 60s, returned from our long-awaited vacation. It was the first time it had been just the two of us since we became grandparents.

Oh, we felt that we still have and love each other. Each day we woke up at 7 a.m., instead of at 5, ate plenty of seafood, and took long beach walks.

Once, we stopped for a moment and kissed each other. A girl ran up to us and showed us a pic she had taken of US. Oh boy, I even shed a tear.

When we returned, I posted it on my Facebook. To my shock, my DIL wrote this comment:

“How does she even DARE to show her WRINKLED body in a swimsuit?! Moreover, her kissing her husband at their age is grosssss.”

I couldn’t believe what I had just read. I even took a screenshot, and the next moment, the comment was GONE. It was clear she had meant to send it to someone privately. And then, I got this plan to put her in place.

When my son and DIL invited us for dinner that weekend, I accepted immediately. I put on a beautiful dress, did my hair, and walked in with my husband hand-in-hand like we were still young lovers. I carried my phone with me, knowing the moment would come.

Over dinner, as we chatted about our trip, I casually brought up my Facebook post. “Oh, did you all see the beautiful picture I posted? That sweet girl who captured the moment even sent me a high-quality version!”

My son smiled. “Yes, Mom, you and Dad looked happy.”

But my DIL? She was quiet. Stiff. Avoiding my gaze. Perfect.

I pulled out my phone. “You know, funny thing. Someone commented something quite… shocking.” I pretended to scroll and then gasped. “Oh my, I even took a screenshot.”

Then, looking her dead in the eye, I read it aloud.

Silence. My son blinked. “Who wrote that?”

I turned to my DIL. “Well, it was quickly deleted, but I recognized the name. I wonder, what kind of person would say such a thing?”

Her face turned red. “I-I must have been hacked! Or maybe my phone autocorrected!”

I smiled, tilting my head. “Oh, honey, phones don’t autocorrect entire insults. But you know, it made me think—why do some people believe love has an expiration date?”

My son stared at her, waiting for an answer. She fidgeted. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought… you know, people should act their age.”

“And what age is love supposed to stop?” I asked, my voice calm but firm. “Because last time I checked, wrinkles don’t erase passion. Nor do they erase the years we spent raising kids, building a life, and still choosing each other every day.”

She swallowed hard, eyes darting to my son, who now looked at her with something close to disappointment.

I leaned in slightly. “The truth is, one day, you’ll be in my shoes. And I hope, when that day comes, no one tells you that you’re too old to love your husband. Because I promise you, you won’t feel old on the inside.”

The room stayed tense for a moment before she mumbled an apology, barely audible.

But I didn’t need an apology. The lesson had landed. I smiled, took my husband’s hand, and gently kissed his cheek.

Later that night, as we were leaving, my son hugged me a little tighter than usual and whispered, “You’re right, Mom. Love doesn’t expire.”

And that was the best reward of all.

If you agree that love has no age, share this post and let’s remind the world that passion is timeless!