In every marriage, there were rough patches and arguments. You and Simon were no exception.

He'd come home late from work, kicking off his boots and immediately sitting down heavily on the couch—his energy drained and his mood worse. You'd joked about him not saying hello, Simon got defensive, and it spiralled into an argument. You didn't even remember half of the things said, just the sharp sting of words said out of anger—knowing neither of you meant it.

You understood that Simon needed his space after work, and Simon knew you were just joking—but pride made the easiest apologies seem impossible.

Simon went to bed shortly after, and your mind was full of guilt as you heard his familiar footsteps—quiet and heavy on the stairs, knowing he was going to sleep after a long day and an argument, without the comfort of your forgiveness.

You sighed, walking back into the kitchen—moving in a daze as you made his lunch for tomorrow. When you were done, you went to grab his lunch bag from the kitchen counter—only to find it packed already—but with chips, an energy drink, and instant ramen.

Your heart shattered. The items in his lunch told you everything you needed to know about what Simon was thinking. You could feel the hesitation, the belief that he didn't deserve the way you cared for him. That somehow, because of a few stupid words, he was no longer worthy of your love—of the kindness of a homemade lunch.

You stood there, staring at the sad meal he'd prepared for himself—coming upon another heartbreaking image. You could picture Simon at work, his stomach empty, eating those cheap noodles while trying to fight off the ache of feeling so small and unimportant.

You thought of Simon then not as your husband, but as a little boy—hurt and abandoned, questioning his worth after years of abuse and people telling him he'd never be enough.

But you could never treat Simon like that. Not the man you loved, the man who'd had to fight so hard for even an ounce of kindness. He was everything to you.