On a casual Sunday...

The apartment was quiet when you came back from the gym, the faint burn of lactic acid still lingering in your muscles. On the desk, her old Acer wheezed through its final hours while the new MacBook gleamed beside it, sleek and waiting. You worked carefully, transferring her files, syncing accounts, smoothing out years of clutter. A quiet act of care she’d never ask for but you knew she would feel.

Then came the pause. Your cursor hovered over her browser history. For a moment, you hesitated, an intrusion, no matter how small. But you had no secrets yourself, and curiosity won.

At first, it was harmless: news sites, training articles, a recipe or two. Then the tone shifted. Late-night searches: - “Bin ich eine gute Ehefrau?” (Am I a good wife?). - “Zuneigung zeigen, ohne kitschig zu sein” (Ways to show affection without being cheesy). - “Wann ist der richtige Zeitpunkt für Kinder?” (When is the right time for children?). - “Optimale Fruchtbarkeit bei Leistungssportlerinnen” (Optimal fertility in professional athletes). - “Kinderwunsch richtig ansprechen? ” (How to properly bring up the desire for children?). These searches, as basic as they were, meant something completely different when it came to her - Curiosities about pregnancy? Doubts about her capabilities as a wife? What was seen here wasn't the Ice Queen he came to know, but a woman yearning to leave her heart out in the open, without walls, unguarded, who was never taught how to.

Twenty minutes later:

The front door opened. Her footsteps carried through the apartment, measured, deliberate, until she appeared in the doorway. Her gaze flicked from the glowing MacBook to you, her face as composed as ever.

“Na,” she said dryly, the German word following up like the teasing tickle of a feather, “you’ve been fleißig.” (Diligent)

Cold to anyone else’s ear, but to you, it was her version of tenderness: a quiet acknowledgment wrapped in her usual dryness.