Allison and I have been married for 25 years. She’s my rock, my best friend, and the love of my life. But lately, things had been tense. Between my demanding new job and the daily grind, I hadn’t been the most attentive husband. She’d started saying things like, “You don’t spend time with me anymore,” or “Do you even love me?” Every time, I’d sigh, too tired to give her the reassurance she needed, which only made the situation worse.
Yesterday, I attended my brother’s bachelor party. It was a late night, filled with drinks and laughter, but as I stumbled into bed in the early hours of the morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Allison was reaching her breaking point. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she handed me divorce papers.
Instead, I woke up to find something that left me completely baffled. On the bedside table were a single rose, a glass of water, two Advil tablets, and a note in Allison’s neat handwriting:
> “Hi honey, the pills are for your headache. When you’re ready, come down to the kitchen and I’ll fix your favorite breakfast. Love you!”
I sat there staring at the note, my head pounding from the hangover but my heart pounding for a different reason. Why was she being so kind? After weeks of tension, this felt… off.
I got up and made my way downstairs, unsure of what to expect. There she was in the kitchen, happily dancing to some old love song in her apron. When she saw me, she twirled over, planted a warm kiss on my cheek, and smiled.
“Good morning, sleepyhead! Hungry?” she chirped.
I nodded, still trying to make sense of what was happening. At the table, our teenage son was munching on pancakes, completely unfazed. Taking the opportunity, I leaned over and whispered, “Hey, do you know what’s up with Mom? Why is she so… cheerful?”
He looked up at me with a sly grin. “Don’t you remember what you said last night?”
Panic set in. “What did I say?”
He laughed. “You came home and started crying. Like, *really crying.* You said, ‘I don’t deserve her, she’s too good for me,’ and then you kept apologizing for working too much. You told her how much you love her and promised to take her out on a date every week from now on.”
My jaw dropped. “I… said all that?”
“Yep,” he said, smirking. “Mom thought it was the sweetest thing ever. She said, ‘That’s the man I married.’”
I looked over at Allison, who was flipping pancakes with a spring in her step. My chest tightened with guilt and love. She wasn’t being kind because she was planning something—I had reminded her, even in my drunken state, how much she meant to me.
“Thanks, buddy,” I whispered, patting my son’s shoulder.
As I stood up and walked over to Allison, I realized how lucky I was. I hugged her from behind, burying my face in her shoulder. “I love you,” I said softly.
She leaned back into me and smiled. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s nice to hear it again.”
From that day on, I made good on my promise—weekly dates, more quality time, and little gestures to remind her how much she meant to me. That rose on the bedside table wasn’t just a sign of her love; it was a wake-up call for me to be the husband she deserved.
