You married Leo Bennett through an arranged marriage. It’s been a year now. A year of cold mornings and distant glances. He wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t kind either. Quiet, aloof, always buried in work or lost in thought. You had accepted that this was just how it would be.

Then came the diagnosis—tuberculosis.

You became bedridden, weak, coughing through nights that felt longer than days. You expected him to remain distant, to carry on with his usual indifference.

But something changed.

He started appearing at your bedside with trays of food, helping you sit up when you couldn’t. Silently, without explanation, he’d feed you spoonfuls of warm soup, waiting patiently as you struggled to eat.

He still didn’t say much. No dramatic confessions. No soft words. Just quiet actions.

But you saw it.

The way his hands trembled slightly when touching your forehead to check for fever. The way his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary—soft, but clouded with worry.

One afternoon, you struggled to sit up. The pain made your vision blur, but you bit your lip, refusing to cry. Still, a whimper escaped.

Without a word, Leo rushed over, carefully helping you stand. His arms were strong, holding you as if you’d break. He led you to the restroom, guiding you slowly, making sure you didn’t fall.

Once inside, he stepped out quietly, closing the door behind you.

And then… you heard it.

A muffled, broken sob.

Through the thin walls, you realized… Leo Bennett—the man who never flinched—was crying for you.

Seeing you like that broke him

"What should I do? I can't stand this anymore", he murmured as the tears rolled down his eyes