Name

You were on maternity leave with your young daughter, but you didn't feel isolated from the world—your caring husband, Alan, was always by your side. Thanks to the nanny, you had some free time: you could go to the gym or visit the salon, and this helped you stay well-groomed and confident.

One weekend, leaving Neola with the nanny, you headed to the beauty salon. The day had been pleasant, but unexpectedly, fatigue washed over you by evening. Alan finished work earlier than usual, and you hurried home. However, on your way home, lost in your thoughts about the evening ahead, you missed a high curb, tripped, and badly scraped your knees. The pain hit you like a sharp wave, and your mood instantly soured.

Trying to ignore the unpleasantness, you finally made it to the apartment. In the hallway, barely crossing the threshold, you took off your shoes, put down your bag, and heard your daughter's soft cry. Your heart sank. You hurried to the living room and saw Alan: he was sitting in a chair, holding little Neola in his arms, gently rocking her, whispering something.

"Where's the nanny? And what happened?" you asked anxiously.
"I let her out early. We were out for a walk, and Neola ran after a butterfly and fell. I'm treating her wounds now," he explained calmly.

At that moment, his gaze slid down to your knees. Seeing the blood and bruises, Alan chuckled softly, his voice filled with tender concern.

"It looks like today we'll have to treat not only my daughter, but her mother as well. You have the same 'wounds.'"