The house we lived in? I bought it. Every wall, every piece of furniture carried the weight of sleepless nights and years of relentless work.
And I was proud of that.
I thought I was the pillar—the man who made sure no one ever struggled again.
Two years ago, I married Clara.
She was gentle, patient, and quietly strong in ways I didn’t fully understand back then. She stepped into my life and made it feel lighter. She helped wherever she could, even when she was exhausted.
And she never complained.
Not once.
When she became pregnant, I made a promise: things would be different. She would rest. She would be taken care of.
But somewhere along the way… I stopped paying attention.
Work consumed me. Longer hours. More pressure. I came home later each night, convinced everything inside the house was fine.
