The coal miner lay sprawled across the bed, breathing hard.
Coal dust still clung to his arms despite the bath he had hurried through before dinner.
His wife curled beside him, laughing softly.
Every time he returned from months underground, the reunion followed the same pattern.
He barely crossed the doorway before she wrapped herself around him like she feared he might disappear again.
Neighbors teased her endlessly.
“Poor man can’t even unpack his boots first!”
But she never cared.
To her—
months apart were long enough.
That evening had been no different.
The moment he stepped inside—
bags still in hand—
she dragged him toward the bedroom with the determination of someone collecting overdue affection.
Now, afterward, the miner lay staring at the ceiling while his wife traced circles on his arm.
She smiled with admiration and mischief.
“Darling…”
He turned lazily.
“Yes?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t understand you.”
He grinned.
“That makes two of us.”
She laughed.
“No, honestly.”
Her eyes sparkled.
“You spend months buried underground working in a coal mine.”
He nodded proudly.
“Twelve-hour shifts.”
“Dangerous work.”
“Very.”
“You come home exhausted…”
He sighed dramatically.
“Practically falling apart.”
She leaned closer.
“And yet…”
Her smile widened.
“…how on earth do you still have this much energy when you come home?”
The miner wiped sweat from his forehead and smiled proudly.
Then—
without missing a beat—
he answered:
“Well, sweetheart…”
She waited.
He grinned wider.
“I’ve been digging in the wrong hole all year.”
For one second—
she stared at him.
Then she nearly fell off the bed laughing.
“You ridiculous man!”
He chuckled proudly.
Still laughing, she smacked his shoulder.
“That’s your secret?”
He shrugged.
“Occupational training.”
She shook her head.
“And here I thought it was love.”
The miner wrapped an arm around her and winked.
“Oh, it’s love too…”
Then he added with a grin:
“But the mining experience doesn’t hurt.”
