“wife and husband fight“

It was just another evening in our small home. The kids were asleep, the TV was on, and I was in the kitchen doing the dishes. My husband, Sameer, was scrolling on his phone, sitting on the sofa, tired from work. I was tired too. Maybe more tired than I even realized.

I asked him something simple.

“Can you please take out the trash?”

He didn’t even look up. Just nodded, “In a bit.”

Fifteen minutes passed. I asked again.

He replied with a slightly irritated tone, “I said I’ll do it.”

And that’s where it started.

I snapped back, “You always say that, but you never do it until I ask three times!”

He looked up now, annoyed. “Why do you always complain? I just got home. Can I sit for a few minutes without getting yelled at?”

His words hit harder than they should have. I wasn’t yelling. I wasn’t trying to fight. I was just tired — tired of doing everything and feeling like no one noticed.

I replied sharply, “You think I’m sitting and enjoying all this? I work too! I take care of the house, the kids, your meals—what do I get in return? Silence and your phone!”

Sameer stood up now, defensive. “Oh here we go again. The same script. Every week, every month. If you’re so unhappy, just say it.”

That sentence broke me.

I wasn’t unhappy because I didn’t love him.

I was unhappy because I did love him, and I didn’t feel that love back in small, daily ways.

I didn’t want a big house, or gold, or roses. I just wanted to be seen.

We argued. Voices were raised. Hurtful things were said — not from hate, but from exhaustion. He said I didn’t appreciate him. I said he didn’t even notice me anymore.

At one point, we both stopped. Just stood there in silence.

The trash still wasn’t taken out.

The dishes still weren’t done.

But more importantly, something between us had cracked.

He walked out to the balcony. I sat on the floor in the kitchen, holding back tears.

Not because of the fight — but because I remembered how we used to be.

Sameer used to text me in the middle of work, just to say he missed me. He used to bring me chai without asking. I used to wait at the door for him to come home.

Now, we were just… surviving. Living in the same house but not really connected.

After a while, he came back in. Quiet. Calm.

He sat near me on the floor and didn’t speak for a minute. Then he said, “I didn’t mean that, about you being unhappy. I just felt cornered. I know you do a lot. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t speak either. Just nodded.

Then I said, “I’m sorry too. I don’t want to fight. I just feel invisible sometimes.”

He looked at me, and that look reminded me of the man I fell in love with.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ve been so busy, I forgot how to show you you’re still everything to me.”

That’s all I needed.

Sometimes, a marriage isn’t about never arguing. It’s about arguing, and then finding your way back.

He got up, took out the trash without a word. Then came back and helped me with the dishes.

We didn’t talk much that night. But before sleeping, he placed his hand on mine and squeezed it gently.

It was his way of saying, We’ll be okay.

And I believed him.

Because love isn’t perfect words or grand actions.

Sometimes, love is just staying — even after the worst fights.