People may never witness my husband holding my hand in public.

They might not see him writing sweet posts about me on social media.

They won’t find extravagant displays of affection on our birthdays, anniversaries, or even on Mother’s Day.

No bouquets of flowers mysteriously appear at my office for everyone to admire. There were no scattered rose petals leading to the bed, no scented candles, no surprise boxes with sparkling jewelry.

But my husband’s love isn’t loud.

He loves me quietly, in the way he holds my hand while we drive, letting the simple touch speak volumes.

He loves me in the gentle way he hums songs as he does the dishes because he knows how much I adore the sound of his voice.

He loves me in the everyday moments—picking up toys, helping our daughter with her homework, and tucking our toddler into bed so I can steal a moment for myself.

One morning, I was scrambling to get everything ready, worried about getting the kids to school on time. I walked into the kitchen, expecting the usual chaos, but instead found their lunches packed, shoes lined up by the door, and backpacks ready to go. My husband had taken care of it all before I even woke up, knowing how hectic our mornings can be.

He loves me quietly, like when he brings home my favorite ice cream, even though it wasn’t on the list.

He loves me as we sit together on the porch swing, side by side, watching our children play, soaking in the peace of our life together.

He nourishes our relationship with small, thoughtful actions. He may not declare his love in extravagant ways, but he shows it through the little things, something that might seem insignificant to others, but to me, it means everything.

Love doesn’t have to be loud or public for it to be real.

It’s wonderful if it is, but for us, it’s the quiet love that matters—the love that speaks to my soul in the softest whispers. It’s OK if the world doesn’t see it often because I see it every day, and that’s what truly counts.