I Asked My Ex-Husband to Fix the Air Conditioner—But When He Rolled Up His Sleeves, I Broke Down in Tears and Begged to Remarry

That day, after failing to reach three different repairmen, I finally had no choice but to call my ex-husband for help.

It was a scorching weekend noon. The blazing sun turned my apartment into a giant steamer when the air conditioner suddenly stopped working. The suffocating heat seemed to mock me, especially as I was already dizzy from a mild fever and a sleepless night.

I tried calling three repairmen one after another, but none of them answered. Covered in sweat, feeling exhausted and defeated, I ended up doing something even I hadn’t expected—I scrolled through my contacts, my hand trembling as it hovered over the name I had long since renamed simply as “D.” My ex-husband.

Duy and I had been divorced for two years. There was no cheating, no betrayal. We separated because of too many “nots”—not listening, not patient, not willing to compromise.

I always craved romance, gentle gestures, while he lived by rigid principles—dry, pragmatic, almost cold. Over time, our love eroded in endless arguments until we quietly signed the divorce papers like strangers.

I thought I would be stronger once I escaped that suffocating marriage. But life is unpredictable. Coming home to nothing but the quiet hum of the television, falling ill with no one to fetch medicine, and on stormy nights, when thunder rolled through the skies, I found myself wishing someone would pull the blanket up over my shoulder. And yet, I taught myself to live alone, to bury everything inside—including how much I missed him.

The call connected after just two rings. I could barely breathe when I heard his voice on the other end.

I don’t remember exactly what I said—only that by the time I hung up, my heart was pounding like I had just lost a high-stakes gamble. Twenty minutes later, he was standing at my door. No blame in his voice, no judgment in his eyes.

Duy stepped inside, set down his tool bag, checked the power outlet, then pulled a chair over to remove the air conditioner cover. He rolled up his sleeves, the muscles in his arms tightening as he twisted the screws. The scene was so familiar it caught in my throat.

I sat quietly on a chair, watching his every movement. Duy still remembered everything about this place—the circuit breaker, the drawer with the screwdriver, even the folding ladder I kept hidden in the closet. Nothing felt foreign to him, as if he had never left, as if he still belonged here.

I didn’t realize when the tears started falling. All the emotions I had buried deep inside burst out as I watched him struggle to wipe the dust off the cooling unit—still patient, still quiet, just like he used to be when we were together.

Then, without thinking, I asked him:

“Why did you come help me?”

Duy paused, but didn’t turn around. He replied with just three words:

“Because you called.”

He was still as quiet and reserved as ever—but those three simple words cut through me like a knife.

I stood up and staggered toward him, watching his silent figure in the familiar room, beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Every memory came rushing back—the times I blamed him for forgetting anniversaries, the nights we turned our backs on each other in anger, neither of us willing to make the first move to reconcile. I thought I was strong, but it turns out I was only pretending to be okay. I thought I had moved on, but my heart had never stopped calling his name.

“I was wrong,”
I whispered through tears, unsure if I was speaking to him or confessing to myself.

He looked at me, his eyes lingering for a few seconds. The room fell silent—only the ticking of the clock filled the air.

“I miss you so much… If you’re not seeing anyone, can we… can we start over?”

I was speechless. He didn’t answer right away—just quietly stepped down from the ladder and looked deep into my eyes. Then he reached out and gently wiped away the tear rolling down my cheek, just like he used to.

“I missed you too. I thought you had already forgotten me.”

I broke down in tears. For the first time in two years, I cried—not out of pain, but out of happiness. He gently held my shoulders. It wasn’t a rushed or possessive hug—it was simply someone returning to the place where they truly belonged. We stood there for a long time, surrounded by the steady hum of the air conditioner and a silence that felt strangely peaceful.

Before he left, he turned back and softly said:

“I’ll come by tomorrow to fix the kitchen shelf for you, okay?”

I nodded, my heart trembling at those seemingly simple words.
Because sometimes, happiness begins again with nothing more than a repaired air conditioner—and someone who still wants to be part of your life.

And this time, I will hold on tight. I will cherish it.