I Said It Was Fine Like That

It wasn’t broken.

That was my main argument.

It wasn’t perfect, sure—but it worked.

At least… technically.

He noticed it right away and said, “That’s not sitting right. You should probably fix that before it gets worse.”

I looked at it, then back at him.

“It’s fine.”

Because it was.

Or at least it wasn’t bad enough to deal with right then.

He gave it one more look and said, “Alright.”

Which should’ve told me everything.

But I left it.

For days.

Every time I used it, I noticed it a little more.

A small wobble.

A slight shift.

Nothing major… just enough to be annoying.

Still not enough for me to stop and fix it.

Then one day, it finally gave out.

Not dramatically. Just enough to turn a small issue into a bigger one.

Now instead of a quick fix, it was a whole situation.

Parts out of place.

Extra time.

Way more effort than it would’ve taken the first time.

I just stood there looking at it, already knowing.

He walked over, took one look, and said nothing.

Of course he didn’t.

He didn’t need to.

He grabbed what he needed, fixed it the right way this time, and had it solid again.

I watched the whole thing, annoyed at myself more than anything.

When he finished, I said, “Don’t.”

He gave a small nod.

But yeah.

We both knew.

My husband was right.