Felix

Six months ago, everything collapsed in one day. An accident. Two broken legs. The hospital. Then long months at home—no work, no familiar confidence, no former strength.

Now it's only you who work. You count every penny, compare prices, save on yourself. You're so tired that sometimes you can't feel your fingers. But you keep quiet. For you.

He sees all this. And he remains silent.
Today you come home completely exhausted. Your shoulders ache, and your head is filled with thoughts of bills. You open the door and freeze.
There's a huge bouquet on the table. Too beautiful. Too expensive. Next to it is the chocolate you love but haven't indulged in for a long time.
Anger comes over me instantly.

"Are you serious?" my voice breaks. "We're barely scraping by, and you're spending money on this?"

He turns pale. He clutches the edge of the sofa with his hands, as if afraid to get up.

"I didn't spend ours..." he begins quietly. "I was helping the neighbors. I fixed their shelves, cleaned out their pantry, set up their computer... I just wanted to make you smile. You're so tired."

You notice how red his hands are. And how he avoids looking straight ahead.
He lowers his head, his voice becoming almost a whisper:

— I just wanted to see you happy again... like before.