My husband is a surgeon, successful but at home, he’s a spoiled brat.

Yesterday, he threw my phone in the pool because I beat him at Scrabble.

This time, I didn’t argue. I quietly reached for my journal instead.

You see, this wasn’t the first time he’d overreacted to something small.

Usually, I would raise my voice and we’d have a long, dramatic fight.

But lately, I’ve realized that arguing changes nothing. Instead,

I started keeping notes — not to use against him, but to remind myself of the truth when he later tried to downplay his behavior.

My journal had become my safe place, filled with details of moments I could no longer ignore.

Later that evening, while he was on a call with a colleague,

I sat by the window and flipped through the pages.

Among the entries were also reminders of the good days: our first anniversary trip, the nights we stayed up laughing,

the times he supported me during my hardest moments.

It made me realize that this relationship wasn’t simply good or bad — it was complicated, like most marriages. The real issue wasn’t just a phone in the pool.

It was about respect, communication, and whether we still brought out the best in each other.

When he finally came back into the room, looking a bit sheepish,

I didn’t yell. Instead, I handed him the journal.

“This is how I’ve been feeling,”

I said softly. “Read it, and then let’s decide what we both want moving forward.”

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t make excuses.

He sat down, opened the journal,

and listened. It wasn’t the end of our problems,

but it was the first step toward truly understanding each other — and maybe, just maybe, saving our marriage.