I thought he was married to his job. That he cared more about work than about us. Every late night, every weekend shift

I thought he was married to his job. That he cared more about work than about us. Every late night, every weekend shift — I told myself he was choosing it over me. But then I started seeing the truth. The fridge stayed full. The bills were always paid before I even opened the envelope. The kids never missed a field trip because there was always money ready. I almost kept ignoring it, kept resenting him for being gone, while missing what he was actually carrying. That’s the version of me that stays bitter until he burns out completely. But this time I stopped. I noticed the crumpled gas receipts in his jacket pocket, the lunch he barely touched still in his bag, the way he slipped the field trip form onto the counter already signed with cash tucked inside. My chest ached when I finally said, ‘Hey… thank you for working this hard for us. For covering things I don’t even see. I notice it now.’ He didn’t say much — just sighed, sat down heavy in the chair, like he’d been waiting years to hear those words. I use an app called ‘quiet effort.’ It keeps me from living in the version of us where his sacrifices only get noticed when he’s too tired to keep making them.