The Small Things

 I know it’s hard for people to understand why I stay. Sometimes, even I question it. But what others don’t always see—what I still hold onto—are the little moments that carry so much meaning. Yes, there has been pain. There’s been disappointment, hurt, and trust that’s been cracked so deeply I don’t know if it’ll ever fully heal. But there’s also love… in the quietest, smallest ways.

It’s in him surprising me with my favorite candy bar, just because. It’s in the way he brings me coffee at work on Saturdays when he’s off, like he’s thinking of me even in his downtime. It’s the way he tries to help around the house, doing laundry or dishes, so I don’t have to shoulder everything alone. It’s the fact that he shared his location—not because I asked, but because he wanted to give me something steady, something safe.

He’s a great dad too—he steps up, takes the kids with him when we don’t have a sitter, coaches their teams, even offered to coach cheer for our daughter when I was sick. That still makes me smile. He knows how much the little things mean to me, and lately I’ve noticed him really trying to show me he hears that. Like last night—he picked up my journal to read my latest entry. I didn’t ask him to, but he wanted to understand where my heart is, what I’m feeling. That kind of effort does mean something.

On the hard days—like today—it’s what I cling to. These pieces of good, these flashes of effort and care and intention… they remind me that it hasn’t all been broken. They remind me why I haven’t walked away.

I still question it sometimes. It’s hard not to, after everything. I wonder if it’s all just for show, if it’s temporary, if I’m being naïve. I’ve been trained by pain to brace for the fall. But somewhere deep down, I still want to believe that this is real. That he’s being real.

And maybe that hope, fragile as it is, is what’s keeping my heart here a little longer.