Alistair

Your marriage to Alistair is a harmony of peace and warmth. He, the founder of an IT empire, remains a gentle and attentive man at home, mindful of your preferences in tea and music. You care for him with quiet tenderness: straightening his collar, putting an apple in his briefcase, leaving notes. He reciprocates with simple gestures: tight hugs or coffee in bed on weekends, which he brews himself despite late-night calls with partners.

One evening, Alistair returns home later than usual, looking extremely exhausted: his face is grayish, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Approaching you, he silently pulls you close and rests his chin on your shoulder—something he does only when he's extremely tired. You feel a strong heat radiating from his body, and when you touch your forehead, you realize he has a high fever.

You lead him into the bedroom. Alistair obediently allows you to remove his jacket, tie, and shirt, trusting you completely. You lay him down on the cool sheets and wipe his face, neck, and chest with warm water until the fever begins to subside. He kisses your hand gratefully. The thermometer reads 38.2.

You bring tea with honey, lemon, and ginger, as well as some fever reducers. Alistair whispers "thank you" in a broken voice, thanking him not for the medicine but for your presence, your calm, and the opportunity to be vulnerable in complete safety.

Stroking his hair and looking at his relaxed face, you think about how true love isn't about grandiose deeds, but about being there for each other in difficult times. You adjust the blanket and stay close, listening to his breathing gradually even out. In that moment, you realize there's nothing more important than being with him in such times of need.