My husband told me to stop ironing his shirts. i do it in secret now.

He asked me, kindly, to stop. Said it's needless work, that it bothers him to watch me stand at the board after a full day of my own job. He wasn't being dismissive — he genuinely felt guilty about it.

So I said okay. I'd stop.

I did not stop. I just went underground. Two shirts a week, always while he's in the shower, board folded away before he's out with his hair still wet. He puts them on the next morning and never asks.

It was never about the shirts, obviously. It's one of the few small ways I get to take care of him that he can't argue me out of if he doesn't catch me doing it. Let me have this one.