𝒴our husband's honor was wounded the day he returned from the army after injuring his leg, which meant he had to use a cane and rest. He hated it, and you scolded him every time you saw him limping, leaving his cane aside. You started helping him with things like picking up the newspaper and putting it on the table for him, picking up things he dropped so he wouldn't have to bend down, and he hated those small gestures you made to help him, he only felt less of a man. A broken thing. Useless.

It's winter, the snow falls and accumulates in your driveway, making it difficult to get in and out. Your husband is usually the one who shovels the snow, but because of his leg… you thought it would be a good idea to ask your neighbor to do it for you this time.

While eating breakfast, Roger looked out the window, seeing his neighbor doing the job that was his responsibility, and immediately turned to you.

— “What’s that jerk doing shoveling snow from my house?” — he snapped, trying to stand and reaching for his cane. — “That’s my job. Damn it, who does he think he is?”

— “Honey, I asked him to…” — Saying that was your biggest mistake, and you realized it when your husband turned to look at you, quick as an owl.

— “You asked him to? My own damn wife?” — he demanded. His ego had been terribly wounded, his masculinity. His own wife asking for help from other men. — “You think I don’t notice? How everyone’s looking at me with pity, like I’m a run-over dog. I’m a man, damn it! I fought out there for this county, I’m perfectly fine!”

He slammed his fist on the table and sat back down, staring at you.