There’s a moment in every long marriage when love stops being about passion or habit and becomes something else—something deeper, quieter, more deliberate.
That night, when I expected everything to end, my wife didn’t give me an ending. She gave me a chance to understand that forgiveness isn’t a gift you receive. It’s an environment you earn.
And if we ever rebuild what was lost, it won’t be because of my apologies. It will be because she decided that my actions—small, steady, and humble—were finally safe enough to trust again.
That’s how love survives the fire—not by forgetting what burned, but by learning how to hold warmth without getting lost in the flames.
