Most folks who know my husband know him as the quieter, gentler half of this couple. That’s often all they know of him, so they think of him as “gentle” and laugh about how he once cried on national TV.
Last night, I came inside after a confrontation with our neighbors and explained to him what had just happened. His face got stormy, following which he very quietly put on his shoes and went outside.
He returned six minutes later to explain what had just happened. It all made sense, and all will be okay going forward. I was grateful that he’d had the conversation.
But his face was steel, just steel, when he relayed his starting message to our neighbors: “Don’t you ever talk to my wife like that again.”
I can hold my own. If you read my blog, you know this. I have held my own since I was very small, so that it astonishes me when anyone else speaks to protect me.
Because of all this, I sometimes forget how seriously he takes his vows of for-better-or-worse.
He loathes confrontation, but he loves me more.
That’s somethin’, folks.
That’s somethin’ lovely.