Marek was not an extraordinary man, though he’d argue that he wasn’t entirely ordinary either. At seventy years old, he had seen enough of life to know that most people were just fumbling their way through it, himself included. If nothing else, he had the good grace to fumble with style—or at least with a cigarette in hand.

A Man of Contradictions
Marek was the calm to his wife’s storm. She was fire: loud, intense, and unrelenting in her pursuit of discipline and order. Marek, on the other hand, was ice: quiet, measured, and often suspiciously absent when the temperature in the house got too high.
His preferred method of dealing with conflict was strategic retreat. When the yelling started, Marek would grab his coat and announce, “I’ll be back in a bit.” His “bit” was typically a two-hour stroll to the cigarette stand five minutes away. By the time he returned, the house would be quieter, the chaos reduced to a manageable simmer.
It wasn’t cowardice, exactly. Marek saw it as playing to his strengths. His wife had more than enough energy to keep the household in line—especially in the early years, when the first two children bore the full brunt of her fiery parenting style.

The Wife’s Inferno
The wife was a force of nature, particularly when it came to her children’s education. Homework time in their house was less an academic exercise and more a battle of wills. She would hover over her eldest children like a drill sergeant, barking orders and scolding them with the intensity of a general leading troops into battle.
“The numbers don’t add themselves, you know!” she’d shout, waving a pencil like a sword.
Marek, ever the observer, would lean back in his chair, watching from the sidelines with a faint smirk. “You’ve got it covered,” he’d say before making his escape.
By the time their third child came along, however, even the hottest fire began to burn out. The wife, still formidable, had lost just enough of her edge to let the youngest child get away with minor infractions. “Don’t think I’ve gone soft,” she’d warn, though her voice lacked the same heat.
Marek, naturally, took full credit for this change. “You’ve mellowed because of me,” he’d joke. “My calmness is contagious.” She’d roll her eyes but never argue.

The Animal Whisperer
While his wife ruled the household, Marek ruled the hearts of the neighborhood strays. Cats, dogs, the occasional bird with a broken wing—if it wandered near Marek, it was bound to be fed, petted, and given a makeshift bed somewhere on the property.
The wife complained, of course. “Do we really need another mouth to feed?” she’d grumble as Marek sneaked scraps to a scruffy dog under the table.
“They’re good company,” Marek would reply, scratching the dog behind the ears. “Better than some people.”
This earned him a sharp look, but he didn’t mind. The animals understood him in a way people rarely did.

A Life of Quiet Resistance
Marek’s approach to life was simple: endure. He wasn’t a hero, a scholar, or a visionary. He was just a man who had survived multiple heart attacks, strokes, and the relentless march of time. His body might have been held together by sheer stubbornness and nicotine, but his spirit remained intact.
If there was one thing he feared, it was water. After his first stroke, the sensation of water on his skin became unbearable—like tiny needles pricking every nerve. Showers became a chore he dreaded, and baths were out of the question. He avoided them as much as possible, though he never complained too loudly; he’d learned long ago that his wife could out-argue him in her sleep.

The End
When the sore throat began, Marek thought little of it. Even as the doctors murmured about tests and scans, he felt no urgency. His body had been through worse.
But when the moment came, it was sudden and quiet. Marek felt the pressure in his chest ease—not in the way it does after a deep breath, but