I thought he just left early because he wanted to avoid me. That’s the story I kept telling myself. Then one morning I stepped outside and realized

I thought he just left early because he wanted to avoid me. That’s the story I kept telling myself. Then one morning I stepped outside and realized — the car was already running. The frost scraped off the windshield, the heater blowing warm air, the seat defrosted. He’d been doing it for weeks, slipping out in the cold before me, just so I wouldn’t have to. And I almost missed it. That’s the version of me that keeps saying he doesn’t put in effort, while I overlook the ways he’s been taking care of me quietly all along. But this time I stopped. I saw his gloves still wet on the counter, the breath he hadn’t caught yet, the trail of footprints from the door to the driveway. My throat tightened when I finally said, ‘Hey… thank you for warming up the car, for making my mornings easier, for freezing so I didn’t have to. I noticed.’ He just shook his head like it was nothing — but it wasn’t nothing. It was love I’d been walking past. I use an app called ‘quiet effort.’ It keeps me from missing the everyday care that doesn’t announce itself.