“Yes.”
That evening, Elena went home. She found Marco in the garage, sanding down a wooden jewelry box he had been building for her—the one she hadn’t noticed he started three weeks ago.
“Yes, but—”
“I know,” Elena said. “But you love it here. And I want to be where you are.” Los cinco lenguajes del amor
“You don’t listen to me,” she whispered.
“I spend all my free time fixing things for you,” he replied. “And you don’t see any of it.”
“Does he fix the sink when it leaks?” “Yes
Elena blinked. “You hate bank stories.”
For the first time in months, Marco looked her in the eye. He put down the sandpaper and took her hands—the hands that had never held a tool before that moment.
Meanwhile, Marco felt unappreciated. Over the weekend, he had spent eight hours fixing the leaking radiator in her car. He had scrubbed the grease off his knuckles until they bled. When Elena came home from grocery shopping, she hadn’t even noticed. “The car sounds different,” she said. “Did you get an oil change?” Marco just clenched his jaw. “But you love it here
Elena, in turn, spent Saturday morning in the garage. She didn’t build anything. She just brought him a cold soda and sat on a stool, watching him work.
They opened their gifts in silence. Marco looked at the coupon book like it was written in ancient Greek. Elena looked at the knives like they were surgical instruments.
