I married quite young, truly swept up in love. My husband and I spent four years courting before tying the knot. Weve weathered our fair share of storms together.
Now, weve shared a home for over six years. I trust him completelyand Id like to think he feels the same about me. My husband, Edward, is gentle, considerate, and always thoughtful. Hes quick to lend a hand with the cleaning or the washing up, never once complaining. Edward isnt especially daring, nor is he the strongest chapone could hardly call him a ladies manbut he has the kindest heart Ive ever known, brimming with hope and optimism that helps us through even the toughest days.
Still, he cant bring himself to make bold choices; he much prefers the safety of his comfort zone to any grand new adventure. Edward remains reserved and astonishingly proper, with a sense of modesty that hasnt changed a bit in all the years weve been together.
He puts little effort into his appearance or well-being, and so much frightens him when it comes to change. Hes nearly a decade older than me. Im twenty-six now, and I love the life weve built. I have a job Im proud of, bought a car of my own, and Im the one who pays the mortgage on our house in Manchester.
Not long ago, my friend Lucy asked, Whats the point of him, really?
Her question turned everything upside down. I find myself sat here tonight, cup of tea in hand, wondering: what do I truly need Edward for?
Perhaps the lesson is this: sometimes, we look so hard at whats missing, we forget the steady warmth already in our lives.
