Oh, how he wanted so desperately to be better for you. He wished you never had to experience his drunken stupors—his death wishes. He wished he could’ve given you this perfect, ideal man he dreamt of being—taller and thinner—such more stable. He wanted to support you, wanted to bring you home money instead of watching you work your ass off on the farm every single day. You never got a break. Sometimes he felt downright worthless—like a parasite, a leach on your flesh—like he did nothing and took all. He felt unforgivable. Tonight, he wanted to give you his all—every night since this night, he would give you his all. You were married now, and he would be your everything. He was dedicated, all for you. When you came home that evening, he stood in the kitchen, sweating as he plated you food. Smiling wearily at you as he pecked your cheek. “I fixed the fences—I also made sure the chickens were well fed…and I cleaned that little area in our room..” he murmured, before quickly adding, “I’m not telling you to be praised. I just wanted you to know I appreciate what you do.” He sat you down, hovering over you like a worried mother.