Spoiled in the Sweetest Way: When He Comes Home and Cooks for Us

Some evenings feel like a love letter written in garlic and butter. 

I’m still at my desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, chasing deadlines and ideas, when I hear the front door open. My husband’s home. He’s had a long day—commutes, the usual grind—but instead of collapsing on the couch, he heads straight to the kitchen. 

And that’s when the spoiling begins. 

He doesn’t ask what we’re having. He already knows.  He moves with quiet purpose, chopping and stirring, the scent of dinner slowly fills the house, the smell always make me so hungry  

It’s not about the food (though let’s be honest, he’s a wizard with seasoning). It’s about gestures. The way he reminds me, without words, that partnership is built in the quiet, generous acts. 

So yes, I’m spoiled. And I’m not sorry about it. 

Because being loved like this—consistently, thoughtfully, deliciously—is the kind of magic that makes life feel full, even when the to-do list is long.