Today felt like the first real taste of what working in the US might be like. I mean, I’m still technically volunteering, but today’s whole routine- waking up early, preparing myself for the day, heading somewhere with a purpose- felt like the closest I’ve been to having an actual job here. And honestly? It was exhausting… but in a strangely fulfilling way.

I woke up at the same time I always do when my husband gets ready for work. I showered first, cooked breakfast, we ate together, and then he showered while I got his clothes ready for the day- though honestly, as we went through this mundane routine, our brain cells were probably still half asleep. This time, instead of just waving goodbye as he grabs his keys and heads out, I had to get myself ready to go too.

Now here’s the catch- my volunteer site is nowhere near his workplace. Not even close. And since I still can’t drive (yes, I know, I know… one day!), he had to adjust his whole morning to drop me off first before heading to his own job. The sweetest thing? He didn’t complain. Not even a sigh. He was actually the one who suggested driving me, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And that’s one of the many things I appreciate so deeply about him- how he steps up without being asked, without making me feel like an inconvenience.

When we arrived, the place was still closed. I found myself walking to Starbucks, grabbing a coffee to kick-start the day, pretending I wasn’t freezing because I forgot to wear a winter coat.

At 10:00, I finally went in and started working. Hours passed without me even noticing. I didn’t check my phone, didn’t watch the clock. I just worked and worked until my stomach practically yelled at me around 3:25. Only then did I remember lunch was a thing.

I ate quickly and continued working, but around late afternoon, the exhaustion hit me like a wall. Suddenly every muscle felt heavy, and all I wanted was to go home, lie down, and not move for three business days. But I had to wait for my husband to fetch me- our agreed time was 6:15. Then I got a message: car accident on the road, traffic backed up, arrival pushed to 6:45.

At 6:45? Still no sign of him. So there I was again at Starbucks, munching on a Cheese Danish like it was a survival ration. Minutes passed, one after another, until finally- past 7- he arrived. I saw the car pull up and immediately rushed out of Starbucks, then got in. As I sat down in the passenger seat, I noticed his tired eyes and his work clothes wrinkled from the long day, but he still greeted me with the warmest smile. And in that moment, every bit of irritation, hunger, and exhaustion melted away.

By the time we got home, it was almost 8:00 pm. Neither of us had the energy to cook, so he called ahead for takeout. Easy, simple, no fuss. He just wanted both of us to rest.

Here’s the thing: this man spent more than four hours today just driving. Driving me to my volunteer site. Driving to his work. Driving back to fetch me. Driving us home. Through traffic. Through delays. Through the chaos of the day.

He could have booked me an Uber. He could have told me it was too much. He could have said, “Maybe find something closer.” But he didn’t. Instead, he went the extra mile- literally and figuratively. And he did it the way he does everything- with quiet patience, gentle understanding, and a kind of love that doesn’t need big gestures to be felt.

Sometimes people think love is in roses or candlelit dinners or fancy surprises. But today reminded me that love can be found in the passenger seat of a car, in the way someone waits for you, drives for you, shows up for you- without fanfare, without keeping score.

And maybe that’s what I appreciate most. He makes the ordinary days feel lighter. He makes exhaustion feel worth it. He makes me feel cared for, supported, and safe in ways that go far beyond words.

And honestly? That’s the kind of love I’ll choose every single time.