I should have asked him, but in the end, I didn't say anything.As if nothing had happened.
The next day, I got up early and went to make breakfast for him as usual.
Timothy had some stomach issues.
Once it got so serious that he had to stay in the hospital for half a month, and I stayed at his bedside.
The doctors and nurses all said he had found a good wife.
Timothy looked tired on the hospital bed, his eyes did not show much emotion when they fell on me.
When we were alone in the ward, he said: "It'd be the same if we hired a caregiver."
My hands paused as I was peeling an apple for him.
He seemed to notice, as he added: "Then you could get some rest, too."
"It wouldn't be the same."
But actually, it wouldn't be so different either.
It was just that, some people would prefer to do things themselves.
Especially for someone you loved and cared for, you'd think you could tend them better than anyone else could.
"Why?"
I smiled at him and answered, "You are my husband."
Even after he was discharged from the hospital, I always tried to take care of his ongoing stomach issues.
Timothy was a workaholic and often forgot to eat when he got busy.
I would get up in the morning and make him breakfast. Sometimes if I had time, I'd bring meals to his office.
If I got busy as well, I'd send him a reminder at mealtime.
Things like this became habits after a couple of years, and getting up early was one of them.
***
Today, Timothy got up earlier than usual. Before I could help fix his tie, he grabbed the bento box with breakfast from the table and rushed out.
But he paused at the door and looked back at me. A little warmth melted the usual coolness on his face.
"I'm off to work."
"Take care."
Just like countless other mornings before.