**The Weight of Unspoken Words**

Prompt: Simon had felt sick al morning and hid it from his wife because he did not want to be a bother. Besides he had promised to decorate the christmastree and the rest of the house. emily came back from work and was angry with simon for not having finished the chores yet. Simon cant hold it any longer and tears start rolling down his face as he tries to explain. A wave of nausea washes over him and he bearly made it to the sink on time. he puked wilhe crying. Emily takes care of him

Simon had felt sick all morning, but he masked it with a bright smile and a flurry of activity. The glittering promise of Christmas was just around the corner, and he didn't want to ruin that anticipation for Emily. "I can do this," he reassured himself as he shifted boxes of ornaments and tinsel to create the perfect atmosphere. Decorating the Christmas tree was a tradition in their home, a sacred event that demanded excitement and energy. He wanted to be her partner in this joy, not a burden. He had always loved this time of year—warm lights twinkling in every window, the scent of pine wafting through the house, and the sweet tunes of carols echoing at every corner. But today, an unwelcome heaviness clung to him, like a thick fog that darkened his thoughts. He tried to shake it off, drinking copious amounts of water and nibbling on ginger cookies as if they could ward off the growing wave of nausea. When Emily arrived home from work, the force of her good cheer almost knocked Simon off his feet. She burst through the door, her coat swirling dramatically as she tossed it aside. "Simon! You won't believe the day I had! The boss was a nightmare, but I made it through. How was your day? Did you finish decorating the tree?" Simon’s heart sank at the question. In his head, he mentally calculated the decorations still scattered around the living room, the tree standing half-dressed in a corner. He forced his lips into a smile, hoping it would mask the turmoil inside. "Uh, just a little more to do. I was… I was waiting for you to get home!" Emily's brow furrowed. "Waiting? Really? I thought you’d be all done by now. It's almost dark! How are we going to have our Christmas card photo ready if you haven’t even put the lights on yet? It’s a little frustrating, Simon!" The irritation in her voice cut deeper than a knife. Simon's heart began to thud painfully against his chest. He watched as her features twisted into disappointment, and a lump formed in his throat. How could he explain without coming off as weak? "Emily, I—" he started, but his voice wavered, and the tears came unbidden. He felt like a child caught in a web of falsehoods. What could he possibly say? That he felt like he was going to retch? That he had spent the day battling an invisible enemy too proud to admit defeat? As the dam finally burst, Simon’s composure crumbled. Tears streamed down his cheeks, a cascade of frustration and pain. "I’m sorry... I just— I couldn’t... I’m so sorry," he sobbed, shoulders shaking under the weight of his unexpressed agony. The wave of nausea intensified, swirling in his stomach. Panic raced through him, blurring the edges of his vision. He stumbled towards the kitchen sink, every second stretching like an eternity. "Not now, please," he pleaded internally, but it was too late. The vomit erupted forth, violent and choking, mingled with the remnants of ginger cookies and a whole day's worth of misery. He retched into the sink, tears falling into the porcelain like a tap left running. For a fleeting moment, he forgot about everything else: the half-decorated tree, Emily’s disappointment, and his own self-imposed burdens. All that remained was the rawness of his exposure and the relief of letting something out, finally. Emily rushed to his side as he heaved, her previous annoyance evaporating with the urgency of the moment. She gathered his hair away from his face, her cool touch a welcome balm against the fiery heat of his skin. "Oh, Simon... why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you just tell me?" The words crashed over him like a wave, hauntingly gentle yet heavy with understanding. He gulped down a sob as he clutched the sink. Between gasps, he managed to speak, "I didn’t want to be a bother… didn’t want to ruin Christmas." As the sickness ebbed, Emily hovered nearby. The frustration that had flared only moments ago had been replaced by sympathy and concern. She turned on the tap, rinsing out the sink, her focus solely on him. "You're not a bother, Simon. You're my partner, and we share everything—especially the hard stuff." As she cleaned, her soft touch and the reaffirmation of their bond started to mend the rift that he had felt growing between them. He wiped his face on the back of his hand, taking a breath, still trembling from the aftereffects. "It’s just been a tough day. I didn’t want to ruin this for you..." Emily turned off the water, her eyes meeting his. "And you think hiding it makes it better? I’d rather you be honest, even if it hurts. I don’t want a perfect tree; I want you, Simon. Your well-being is what really matters to me." Her sincerity sent a wave of warmth through him. Simon nodded, the last of his tears drying against his cheeks. "I’ll try to be more honest. I just didn’t want to let you down." With a soft laugh, Emily wrapped her arms around him, wrapping him in warmth that banished the coldness of guilt. "You could never let me down. Let’s finish decorating the tree together, okay? We still have time to make it beautiful. You and me—two mismatched ornaments on the same tree. That’s what makes it special." They stood there for what felt like hours, hearts gradually healing in the glow of understanding and forgiveness. A sense of companionship filled the kitchen, the unsaid fears and jealousies dissolving like sugar in warm tea. With a touch of humor, Emily added, "And if you need to throw up again, at least now I’ll know and can bring a bowl." A small chuckle erupted from Simon, breaking the tension as they both grinned. The spirit of Christmas was alive, ignited by honesty, vulnerability, and the joy of knowing they would weather any storm together.