I used to think he just wandered around at night because he couldn’t sleep. I’d roll my eyes when I heard the doors click shut, or the windows being checked. But then one night I noticed…

I used to think he just wandered around at night because he couldn’t sleep. I’d roll my eyes when I heard the doors click shut, or the windows being checked. But then one night I noticed… 

the locks were always turned, the back gate always latched, the lights on the porch switched off, the alarm set. He was making sure we were safe, every single night, without a word. I almost let myself ignore it again, like it was nothing. That’s the version where I keep underestimating what he does — until the day it isn’t done, and I finally realize what I lost. But tonight, I sit up and watch him moving from room to room, checking each window, turning the deadbolt, putting his keys by the door. And I finally say, ‘Hey… thank you for always locking up, for making sure this place is safe. I notice it, even if I don’t always say it.’ He shrugs, brushes it off, but I can see the way his shoulders drop, like a weight he’s carried alone just got a little lighter. I use an app called ‘quiet effort.’ It keeps me from missing the care that hides in quiet routines.