I married when I was quite young, really swept up in love. We were together for four years before tying the knot. Weve been through so much as a couple.
Now, its been more than six years living side by side. Honestly, I trust my husband completelyand I feel secure in myself, too. Hes truly lovely: caring, thoughtful, always quick to lend a hand around the house. Hes not exactly the bravest or the most physically impressive bloke, and it would be a stretch to call him handsome, but hes got this genuinely good heart. His optimism is infectioustheres just so much hope and cheerfulness in him that it helps make even the darkest times feel manageable.
Mind you, he has his faults. Hes quite indecisive and really struggles with making any major changes. Hes perfectly content in his little comfort zone and doesnt see much reason to challenge himself or push forward in life. Hes also painfully shy and almost too well-mannered for his own good. To be honest, after six years together, he hasnt changed a bit.
He wont make an effort to look after himself or keep healthy, and any talk of change just terrifies him. My husbands nearly a decade older than I am. At twenty-six, Im excited by life. Ive landed a brilliant job, bought my own car, and Im the one handling the mortgage on our house. The other day, a close friend just came out with it and asked, But really, why do you even need him?
Since then, it feels like something has shifted. I keep catching myself wondering, Seriously, why do I need him?The question haunted me, echoing in the quiet momentslate at night, early in the hush of dawn, whenever we sat together in easy silence. I watched him humming in the kitchen, his lopsided smile focused on slicing pears for my breakfast, or softly murmuring a tune while folding the laundry. He noticed things no one else did: knowing just when I needed tea, slipping notes into my workbag with terrible puns, touching my hand gently when the world seemed too much.
Some days my ambition burned fierce and I wondered if it would consume everything in its pathour slow weekends, his gentle steadiness, the uncomplicated comfort of his presence. Other days, when my victories felt hollow, his arms around me anchored me to something steady and good. I realized I’d never once had to question if I was loved, if I was safe, if I was cherished for myself and not my resumé or my drive. Maybe I could chase storms, but he was my shelter.
Why did I need him? Maybe the question wasn’t about need at all. Maybe it was about loveabout wanting to share my mornings, my hopes, my stubbornness; wanting to grow, with someone who handed me my favorite mug, and with quiet courage decided every single day to love me, unchanged.
So I took his hand in mine, right there at the counter. Lets not need each other, I said, smiling. Lets just want each other, again and again. And he grinned his wide, shy grinlike a man who knew, even without grand gestures, exactly why he was staying.
