In a small house by the sea, a man returned from the fish market, his body weary, his clothes still carrying the scent of salt. That day he had only managed to sell a handful of fish—just enough to buy a single portion of a simple meal. When he arrived home, he placed the parcel on the table and looked at his wife with a faint but tender smile.

“Eat,” he said softly. “I already ate earlier.”

In truth, his stomach had been empty since morning, but to him, seeing his wife eat was far more important than his own hunger. He sat quietly, hiding the ache gnawing inside, watching the woman he loved with gentle eyes. To him, love was never about sweet words, but the small sacrifices he chose to make each day even if it meant enduring hunger, so long as she remained full and healthy.