I thought he didn’t notice I was falling apart. But he was the one holding it all together.

I thought he didn’t notice I was falling apart. But he was the one holding it all together. 

The week I got sick, I barely left the bed. I told myself I was on my own, that the house would collapse without me. But then I heard the dishwasher running. The kids’ lunches being packed. The dog’s leash jingling at the door. And when I finally came out, the trash was gone, the laundry was tumbling, the sink was empty. I almost ignored it — told myself he was just doing the bare minimum. That’s the version of me that keeps overlooking the quiet ways he carries us until he stops trying altogether. But I stood in the doorway, taking in the sound of the washer, the smell of soup simmering on the stove, the jacket he’d laid out for me so I could step outside for fresh air. My throat tightened and I finally said, ‘Hey… thank you for keeping everything going this week. For noticing when I couldn’t. I see it.’ He just shrugged, kept stirring the pot, but I could see it land. I use an app called ‘quiet effort.’ It keeps me from missing the moments when love shows up in work, not words.