Whose love is real: the love of a man who presents you with a huge bouquet bought from the nearest flower shop in public or the love of a man who will cook chicken soup when his girlfriend is ill? A mother who makes posts on Instagram with the hashtag #mysweetdaughter or the one who didn’t sleep all night to finish a school project for her kid? Everyone can decide for themselves.
The stories from this article managed to conquer the heart of every person because they prove that loving a person means loving the people close to them, supporting them in difficult times, and caring about them before they even ask.
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Many people are aware of this trick: When you want to play a game on PlayStation, and your kid wants to play too, just give them an unplugged controller. Today I was working on something and my son came up to me and asked if we could play games together. I said I was too busy at the moment, and he said, “Please? You don’t have to plug in my controller.” He wasn’t fooled, and he didn’t care, he just wanted to sit with daddy on the couch for a while.
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I recall this particular time when I was a young child and my class had been punished. We had to write something 500 times or we couldn’t go to the circus. That night I fell asleep crying because I was barely able to do 200. When I woke up the next morning, I discovered that my mother had not only finished my assignment, but she had collected almost $5 in change (which in that day and age was a nice sum of money) in case I wanted to buy something while I was at the circus. That was one of my happiest childhood memories.
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My boyfriend is not an overtly romantic type. This means he’ll never give me a bouquet of roses, and he’ll probably never propose to me in public. But our second year together, when I had mono, he went with me to the doctor as I cried on his shoulder from my painful tonsils. He made me chicken soup and stayed at my dorm to look after me. He dropped everything to just come and hug me after I found out my grandfather died. He spent several days 3D printing in the university lab to create this beautiful jewelry box — I had told him a few times that the design was beautiful, but never quite asked him to make it.
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After moving out of my boyfriend’s place, I lived at my parents’ house for 6 months. And it wasn’t until today that I realized that, during this time, I’ve never had to pour water into the kettle. I would just wake up and press the button. My father was filling the kettle every morning before leaving to go to work so that I could instantly make myself coffee in the morning. This might seem to be just a small thing. But isn’t love made of little things like that?
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I used to hate my life. I used to party a lot and have a relationship with any woman I found attractive. Then I met my wife and we got married. Not necessarily because I loved her, but because she was more messed up than I was and we could relate. She ended up getting pregnant. I was furious. I hated the thing that was growing in my wife. I remember hearing the baby’s heartbeat for the first time — it was weird. It made me uncomfortable, but in a good way. Eventually, my daughter was born and everything changed. My wife had complications during her labor. I still remember it clearly, we were in the operating room. Something inside me stirred, like a fatherly instinct that my child needed me. I left my wife’s side, walked over to the nurses, and I saw her. For the first time since I was a child, my eyes watered up and I saw the most beautiful baby in the whole world. The nurses got my daughter swaddled up and asked if I would like to hold her. I eagerly nodded yes, unable to speak. I had felt no emotions in years and now this little tiny child, that I could destroy, had just stolen my world.
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Occasionally I experience mood swings. One time I had an episode in our walk-in closet. I refused to move. My husband is not good at talking about feelings, but he has always been so kind and supportive and patient with my mental health. So he brought our pillows and blankets in and said, “I guess we’re sleeping here now?”
«This is the engagement ring I got for my girlfriend.»
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I always knew that my father would help me and protect me. I was 5 and some boys from our block threw my Frisbee on the roof. I told my dad about it and he made them go and get the Frisbee. When they came back crying, my father said, “A man should always answer for his actions.” And in order to smooth out our childish offenses, he gave us money for ice cream. When I was 10, he got me off of a fence because there was a lot of broken glass around it. When I was 13, he supported me when I stood up for my friend and came back home with a bruise, wearing torn trousers. Now he scolds my husband for not treating me like a princess and is scared to hold his grandson with his big arms.
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I woke up early today because I had to finish some stuff for work. So I decided to cook breakfast for my wife and bring it to bed for her. I brought it and put it on the bedside table: coffee, a couple of eggs, sandwiches. I left and carried on with my work when I suddenly heard sobs in the bedroom. I went back and saw my wife eating sandwiches and crying.
— Why are you crying?
— It’s so cute… (she continued stuttering) — I got so touched. Please do it more often like you used to do it when we just started living together. And I thought to myself, why am I not doing it often? It’s so simple after all.
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I grew up with my grandparents, so my grandfather was my world. I took care of him during his last 5 years when he became bedridden. I tried to visit him as often as I could. He lived with an elderly aunt who fed him, but needed me to bathe him and, eventually, change his diapers, and so on. Early in our relationship, my now wife would come over sometimes. One time I got to his house and found his fridge full and him watching TV, eating a bowl of ice cream. My wife had gone a few hours before me without telling me. 6 months later I proposed.
«My friend did this for his wife for their anniversary.»
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I am 22 and have been living in another city since I turned 18. I live by myself and I can return from a bar at 4 AM or go for a walk at 1 AM, if I want to. But if I come back home late in my hometown, my grandad always meets me so that I don’t have to go home alone in the dark. Usually, he goes to bed around 8-9 PM, but he never goes to bed early on the days he is waiting for me.
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My mom and dad divorced after 25 years of marriage. My father got a new family, while my mother stayed alone for a long time. But once, her friend invited her over and introduced her to a man. They started to date and then moved in together. Later, during one of our conversations, they found out that they both came from the same small city that my mom had left in her childhood. They used to be neighbors and, in addition, he turned out to be the very boy who rescued her at the age of 7 when she was drowning in a river.
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When my daughter was about 10, my husband, who is not her biological father, moved into our house. After about 6 months, I was working and they were home hanging out and she got her first period. I’d briefly had a couple of small discussions with her, enough that she knew what was happening. But she was pretty unsure of what to do. So he handed her some toilet paper, told her the basic girl trick of putting it in her underwear, and took her to the store. He helped her pick out some pads, detoured to the ice cream, chocolate, chips, and the bakery section and picked up junior painkillers, just in case. They settled in on the sofa he explained the basics of how to use the pads. He made a hot water bottle for her, popped her dirty clothes in the washer to soak. Then they snuggled and she talked about it, and they googled answers if he didn’t have them. I came home to them having a nap on the sofa, looking like a slumber party exploded, and a happy child. This is probably one of the moments I love him for the most.
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“Told my step-dad I prefer the orange jelly beans, this morning I came in to him sorting them into a jar for me.”
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One time my girlfriend just said she wanted to see me, but didn’t wanna talk to anybody after a rough day at work. So she came to my house and sat on my bed with me while I played video games, until we both fell asleep. Didn’t say a word other than, “Hey,” when she got there, and “Alright, bed. Love you.”
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When we’d been married for about 10 years, had 2 little kids, and had jobs that didn’t pay enough to cover daycare and bills, we were having the sort of fight that these stresses can precipitate. It was a nasty one and we were not holding back with unkind things to say to each other…And then the phone rang. My dad was in the hospital 1,200 miles away. He’d had a stroke, docs were unsure whether he’d live. The fight stopped and she told me to get in the car and go to the airport, she’d have tickets waiting for me at the counter. She’d call my boss and explain that I was flying across the country. Take however much time I needed, she would take care of the house and the kids, and don’t worry about anything but taking care of my family. Dad made it a few years after that, but now I know that no matter how hard life gets, and however much 2 volatile pig-headed jerks fight and yell, she isn’t just on my team, she IS my team. We’ll be married 30 years this year.
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“My wife has been wanting a family portrait for a while, so for Mother’s Day, I decided to do something a little more special than a simple photo. We left a touching note for her on the reverse side. And yes, she was crying.”
