I apologize for everything — even things that aren’t my fault. I’m sure it comes from years of childhood trauma. I’m especially quick to apologize to someone I love if I’ve hurt them. It’s easy for me to admit my mistakes; I’m very self-reflective that way.
I don’t think my husband has “I’m sorry” in his vocabulary.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him utter those words. But he does show he’s sorry in other ways — usually with food. Food is a love language in his culture. I’ve also started noticing (probably because I’m finally looking) that he apologizes through acts of service too.
Last night, he told me he was coming home early so we could have dinner together. That might sound strange — doesn’t he always? No. No, he doesn’t. Now that my kids are grown and out of the house, I eat alone most of the time. But honestly, that’s nothing new. Even when they were still home, the three of us usually ate without him.
It wasn’t always like that. In the beginning, he was around more. But over the years, his dinners away from home have become more frequent — and I know it’s not my cooking. He just prefers being out doing his own thing (usually visiting the casino). So when he said he’d be home for dinner, I was pleasantly surprised.
I knew he’d want kibbeh, so when he got home, I asked what I could do — wash vegetables, get it out of the fridge, anything. He told me, “No, I’ve got it.” He’s asked me not to question him when he says that, so I busied myself with putting away the clean dishes. He made everything — even our drinks.
We sat and ate and actually talked a little. He pulled out his phone but kept it quiet so we could still chat. Later, when he turned it up, I assumed it was because I was talking too much — but it turned out to be a true crime episode, and he knows I like listening to those too.
After dinner, I grumbled (rather childishly), as he got up from the table, that he always goes up to bed and leaves me to clean up alone. It wasn’t fair — he had cooked, after all — but what I really wanted was for him to stay with me a while longer. Sometimes he’s asleep before I get upstairs, and that makes me sad, because I miss my goodnight hug, kiss, and I love you.
But this time, he stayed. He even helped clean up a little.
This was not the same man as the night before.
This was an apologetic man.
We went up to bed together, cuddled, and fell asleep happy.
And later, as I replayed the evening in my mind, I realized something:
Apologies don’t always come in words. Sometimes they come in the quiet — in a shared meal, in the sound of running water as someone washes a dish beside you, in the simple act of staying when they used to walk away.
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