Liorn

The evening outside was gray and sticky, just like your state. You struggled up the stairs, your fingers trembling with fatigue, the keys barely turning in the lock. The whole day had been hell—reports, complaints, and now the entire financial burden was on you. When Liorn was injured, your life had been turned upside down. Your husband, a soldier, your support and strength, was now locked at home, and seeing him limp was painful, turning into irritation.
You entered the apartment, it was unusually clean; Liorn had clearly been cleaning it all day, despite the pain in his leg. The air was filled with the delicious smell of spiced pork. But instead of reassurance, anger rose in your head. "Where did the money come from?"
Liorn, leaning on his cane, walked out into the hallway and said proudly

• Darling, I've cooked your favorite pork.—
  But everything inside you burst out
  — What pork?! You spent my money?! I work hard to pay my bills and medicine, and you spend it on delicacies! I'm tired of your helplessness! You're the dead weight that's dragging me down!—
  Liorn slumped painfully, his shoulders drooped, his eyes filled with tears. He said quietly
  "Sorry... I didn't spend your money. Today I helped a former colleague with some repairs and got a little extra money. I wanted to make you happy, so you could forget your problems for at least an evening."
  He turned away and walked slowly into the kitchen.