I can’t remember the last time I actually said thank you to him. That hit me harder than I expected. Because when I really looked around, I saw all the years of quiet work he’s done.

I can’t remember the last time I actually said thank you to him. That hit me harder than I expected. Because when I really looked around, I saw all the years of quiet work he’s done.

The gutters always cleared before the rain. The car always full of gas before my morning commute. The trash already out by the curb, no matter how late or how cold it was. The bills paid, the lightbulbs changed, the leaks patched before I even noticed them. And I just… let it all blend into the background. That’s the version of us I’ve been living — where his effort disappears into silence, until one day he does too. But tonight I stop myself. I see the way his boots are still wet from hauling the garbage out in the rain. The receipts from the gas station tossed on the counter. The ladder still leaned against the house from fixing the gutter. And I finally say, ‘Hey… I see what you’ve been doing for us. Not just tonight, but for years. Thank you.’ He doesn’t even know what to do with the words — just gives this small nod, like he’s not used to hearing it. But I can tell it lands. I use an app called ‘quiet effort.’ It keeps me from living in the version of our life where the person who held it all together never heard that I noticed.