Short Story | The Words You Used to Kill Me

On a Monday night, even though the lights in my house looked warm, my steps toward it were heavy.
I did not yet know that the efforts I had built up for my beloved family would crumble away with just a single word.
This is a story of a murder where no one died.

Prologue: Monday Night, Under the House Lights

The sound of the train doors opening announces that it is past ten o'clock on a weekday night.

I passed through the ticket gate while being swept along by the crowd. The fatigue of Monday was already weighing on my shoulders. Since today was an office day rather than remote work, I had endured the commute on a packed train both ways.

As I walked the path from the station to my house, I checked my phone unconsciously. There were no messages from my wife. No photos of my daughter. It was the usual.

When I turned the corner, I saw the lights of my home. A two-story detached house. The mortgage is for thirty-five years. To save for the down payment, I dedicated most of my twenties to work. Even after getting married, I earned certifications for promotions, studied English, and spent my days off on self-improvement.

My annual income exceeded ten million yen.

When I spoke that number, I could still feel proud. I am likely better off than most of my generation. But for some reason, every time I returned home, I heard something creaking deep inside my chest.

When I unlocked the front door, the house was silent as always.

"I'm home."

Only my voice echoed in the entryway. There was no reply.

I took off my shoes, lined them up, and headed to the living room. My wife, Misaki, was sitting on the sofa, staring at her smartphone screen. The pale blue light from the screen illuminated her face.

"Welcome home."

When I spoke to her, Misaki replied, "Welcome home," without looking up. A mechanical response. It was the usual.

The living room was perfectly tidy. Vacuum cleaner tracks remained on the carpet, and there was not a speck of dust on the table. I knew the laundry was also neatly folded and put away in the closet. Misaki's housework was perfect. Regarding cleaning and laundry, she was truly perfect.

However, there was no smell coming from the kitchen.

As I loosened my tie, I looked for my daughter. Sakura, who had just turned three. Recently, she had started calling me "Papa."

At that moment, I heard crying coming from upstairs.

"Sakura is crying, isn't she?"

When I spoke, Misaki just replied with a "Yeah," without taking her eyes off the screen.

The crying continued. It was gradually getting more intense.

"Should we go check on her?"

"I'm tired."

Misaki's reply was brief.

I went up the stairs. When I opened the door to my daughter's room, Sakura was crying on the bed. Her face was bright red, and it was a mess of tears and snot.

"Sakura, what's wrong?"

As I approached, my daughter reached out with her small hands. When I picked her up, she buried her face in my shirt and kept crying.

"Daddy..."

That small voice tightened my chest.

Holding my daughter, I went back downstairs. Misaki was still looking at her smartphone.

"She might be hungry," I said.

"I gave her a snack a while ago, so she's fine."

"But she's crying."

"Kids cry, that's just what they do."

There was no emotion in Misaki's voice. It was a business-like tone, as if she were reading a weather forecast.

I headed to the kitchen while still holding my daughter. I opened the refrigerator. There were a few things inside that looked like ingredients, but I didn't know what to make. I wasn't good at cooking.

"What should we do about dinner?"

I heard Misaki's voice from the living room.

"Go buy something at the convenience store."

I stood there, frozen, holding my daughter.

Monday night. Under the lights of our home. Even though we were in the same space, I felt as if each of us was on a deserted island.

Chapter 1: The Ideal Family, the Broken Reality

We got married five years ago.

I met Misaki at a party for one of my company's business partners. She was working at the reception desk, and her neat appearance and polite manner of speaking left an impression on me. She wasn't so much a beauty as she was someone with clean, well-defined features. I was drawn to her at first sight.

We dated for two years. During that time, Misaki was the ideal woman to me. Her room was always perfectly organized, and she was always punctual for our meetings. Her clothes and hair were always perfect, too.

"I feel at peace when I'm with you."

I often said that. Misaki would smile and reply, "Thank you."

The wedding was small. Misaki's parents were divorced, and only her mother attended. Her mother was a well-groomed woman who looked much like her daughter, but she had a somewhat weary expression.

"Misaki is a serious girl, so I'm sure she'll make a good wife."

Her mother said that, but I felt like there was something like resignation mixed into her voice. Still, I was happy. My heart was full of the joy of building a home with Misaki.

Our newlywed life went smoothly.

I threw myself into my work, and Misaki managed the house perfectly. We ate out or bought pre-made meals often, but I didn't mind. When I told her, "You're so good at cleaning," Misaki would look happy.

A year later, Sakura was born.

During her pregnancy, Misaki managed her health perfectly. She followed all the hospital's instructions and ate meals with calculated nutritional balance. The birth also went exactly according to the due date.

"That's just like you, Misaki."

I said that and laughed.

But, little by little, after the birth, something began to change.

Misaki was bewildered by childcare. She seemed not to know how to react to the baby's crying. Even though she did the breastfeeding and diaper changes punctually and properly, she wouldn't pick Sakura up when she cried.

"Babies are supposed to cry."

Misaki often said that. It wasn't wrong, but it felt cold somehow.

I decided to take paternity leave. Without telling my company, I used my paid leave to stay home for a month. During that time, watching Misaki take care of our child, I began to feel that something was wrong.

It wasn't that Misaki didn't have love for the baby. But even when she saw Sakura crying, her expression didn't change. It was as if she didn't know how to react emotionally.

"You must be tired."

I decided to interpret it that way.

When my paternity leave ended and I returned to work, I worked furiously. I had a desire to get promoted, but more than anything, I felt a sense of duty that I had to earn money for my family.

Overtime pay, bonuses, raises. I piled it all up.

Misaki didn't want to work.

"I want to stay home while Sakura is still small."

That's what she said at first. But even after Sakura started attending kindergarten, Misaki wouldn't try to work.

"Because I have to do the kindergarten drop-offs and pick-ups."

"Because housework keeps me busy."

There were various reasons. I didn't oppose her. I had a desire for my wife to stay home, and I thought we could get by just fine on my income.

However, our household finances gradually became tight.

Misaki had no sense of money. No, to be precise, she couldn't calculate money.

"How much did you spend on groceries this month?"

When I asked, Misaki answered vaguely.

"I'm not sure. But I think it's normal."

When I checked the receipts, there were times when food expenses alone exceeded 200,000 yen a month. But there wasn't much food in the refrigerator. There were a lot of pre-made side dishes, bento boxes, and convenience store purchases.

"Can't you try to shop a little more systematically?"

When I made the suggestion, Misaki looked troubled.

"A plan? How?"

She really seemed not to understand.

I decided to take over the entire household budget. I decided to give Misaki 180,000 yen a month for groceries and daily necessities. I would manage the mortgage, utilities, medical expenses, insurance premiums, and everything else.

Even so, Misaki said it wasn't enough.

"What isn't enough?"

"Things like my nails and cosmetics."

I was giving Misaki a monthly allowance of 50,000 yen. Yet she still said it wasn't enough.

"Can't you save a little more?"

"I am saving, you know."

Misaki said that in all seriousness. To her, that was saving.

My annual income exceeded 10 million yen. Objectively speaking, it was a high income. But the household budget was always on a tightrope. We could barely save anything. Thinking about my daughter's future education expenses, there were nights I couldn't sleep from anxiety.

Even so, I didn't complain. I thought it was a man's duty to work for his family, and I knew Misaki wasn't doing it out of malice.

However, a small crack had begun to form in my heart.

No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I earned, I was never satisfied. My efforts were never acknowledged.

"I have to work even harder."

I told myself that.

But somewhere in my heart, a question was bubbling up.

What am I working for? What am I trying so hard for?

Does Misaki even understand my efforts?

It would be a long time before I knew the answer to that.

Chapter 2: A Pile-up of Misunderstandings

On days I worked from home, reality felt even more vivid.

On Tuesday morning, I was at my computer in my home office. I had an important meeting at nine. It was a discussion about contract renewal with a client, and I planned to give a presentation using materials I had spent three days preparing.

Misaki had been vacuuming since early in the morning. The living room, the hallway, the stairs. The mechanical, precise sound echoed throughout the house. It was still time for Sakura to be sleeping.

It was nine o'clock.

I put on my headset and joined the meeting. The faces of my colleagues appeared on the screen.

Good morning. Since it is now the scheduled time, I will begin the meeting.

Just as I started speaking, I heard Sakura crying from downstairs.

At first, it was a small cry. I ignored it and continued my presentation. But the crying grew louder and louder.

I apologize, please wait a moment.

I muted my microphone.

I could hear Misaki's voice.

Shut up.

That was all.

Sakura's crying continued. There was no sign of Misaki doing anything.

I unmuted my microphone.

I apologize. I will continue.

But the crying didn't stop. I could see my colleagues on the other side of the screen looking troubled.

Ten minutes later, Sakura opened the door to my office and came in.

"Daddy..."

She looks up at me with a face messy with tears. Her pajamas are wet, too. She probably needs a diaper change.

"I'm sorry, an urgent matter has come up. Could I resume this in five minutes?"

I interrupted the meeting.

I picked up Sakura and changed her diaper. I changed her clothes, too. All the while, Misaki kept vacuuming downstairs.

When I returned to the meeting, my concentration was completely broken.

The presentation did not go well. I mixed up the order of the slides and the numbers became vague. I couldn't answer the client's questions accurately either.

"Tanaka-san, are you alright?"

I even ended up being worried about by my boss.

After the meeting ended, I remained in the study alone.

Sakura is quietly looking at a picture book on my lap. I can hear the sound of Misaki folding laundry on the first floor.

Why does Misaki leave Sakura alone even when she cries?

Why can't she understand that I am working?

I have explained it to Misaki many times. That even on days I work from home, it is the same as being at the office. I also told her that I have important meetings.

But it seemed Misaki didn't understand.

"You're at home, so you can help, right?"

Misaki often said that.

"I'm in the middle of work."

"But you're at home, aren't you?"

I don't know how many times we have repeated this conversation.

For Misaki, the equation that being at home meant not working seemed to hold true. No matter how much I explained it, that perception never changed.

At night, after putting Sakura to sleep, I talked with Misaki.

"Today's meeting was important. Even if Sakura is crying, couldn't you wait a little while?"

Misaki answered while doing the dishes.

"I'm tired too."

"I know. But—"

"You're at home, so you can take care of the child, right?"

It was the same thing all over again.

I sighed.

"I'm tired too."

"I'm more tired than you."

There was no emotion in Misaki's voice. Her tone was as if she were simply stating a fact.

"You only do housework, right? I'm doing work, childcare, and managing the household finances, all of it."

The moment I said that, I regretted it.

Misaki's hands stopped. She turned around and looked at me with cold eyes I had never seen before.

"What do you mean 'only housework'? I do it perfectly."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

I apologized. In fact, Misaki's cleaning and laundry were perfect. But that was all. She didn't cook. Childcare was minimal. She couldn't manage the household finances either.

But if I said that, it would turn into a fight. I was already exhausted.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I had a headache. My shoulders were stiff, too. I had no appetite.

These symptoms have been continuing lately. I went to a doctor, but was only told, "It must be stress."

Stress.

I knew the cause. But I didn't know what to do about it.

I work for my family, yet I am not understood by them.

The more I try, the more my sense of loneliness grows.

Misaki is not a bad person. She doesn't lie. She doesn't cheat. The house is perfectly clean, and she takes proper care of Sakura's needs.

It's just that something is fundamentally different.

My feelings don't get across. My efforts aren't understood. My exhaustion isn't recognized.

It felt as if I were living with someone who spoke a different language.

Even though we use the same Japanese, the meanings don't connect. Even though we live in the same house, I feel like I'm in a different world.

I stared at the ceiling and thought.

Can I keep going like this?

Is there any meaning to this life?

What am I living for?

I couldn't find an answer.

I only heard the sound of something deep inside my heart definitely breaking.

It was a small sound, but it was definitely echoing.

Chapter 3: The Weapon of Words

It was Monday night once again.

I returned from work and called out, "I'm home," as I always do. There was no reply. Misaki was looking at her smartphone on the sofa. Sakura was crying upstairs.

I stopped counting how many times I've seen this scene. I've already gotten used to it.

I loosened my tie and headed upstairs. After picking up Sakura and soothing her, I went back downstairs with her.

"Welcome home."

When I said it, Misaki replied, "Welcome home," without taking her eyes off the screen.

There were no signs of dinner preparations in the living room. There was no smell coming from the kitchen.

"What about dinner?"

When I asked, Misaki looked up for the first time.

"I'm tired, so go buy something."

It was the usual answer.

I stood there, still holding Sakura. I was tired. Today had been an especially long day. I had been appointed as the lead for a new project and had been preparing documents until late at night.

"I'm tired today, so could you make something, even if it's simple?"

When I said that, Misaki frowned.

"I'm tired too. I've been doing housework all day."

"I know. But I also—"

"You just sit there, don't you? I'm moving around all day."

There was irritation mixed into Misaki's voice.

I couldn't say anything. It was true that Misaki did the housework. The cleaning and laundry were perfect. But I was working all day too. For the household budget, for the family.

Sakura sobbed softly against my chest. She must be hungry.

"Fine. I'll go buy something at the convenience store."

When I said that, Misaki returned her gaze to her smartphone screen.

"Thank you."

It was a mechanical response.

I headed to the entrance while holding Sakura. As I put on my shoes, I spoke to her.

"Shall we go shopping with Daddy?"

Sakura nodded slightly. She looked up at me with a face still marked by traces of tears.

"Daddy."

That one word warmed my heart. I thought to myself that I could do anything for this child.

On the way to the convenience store, Sakura rested her head on my shoulder. Her small body heat was transmitted to me.

"Which bento box would you like?"

I asked Sakura at the convenience store. Sakura pointed at the fried chicken bento.

"We have to buy one for Mommy, too."

I also chose a bento for Misaki. I bought a pudding for Sakura's share as well.

When we returned home, Misaki was still sitting on the sofa.

"I'm back with the food."

When I handed her the bag, Misaki checked the contents.

"I don't like this bento."

"Huh?"

"Because it's greasy."

I was troubled. I didn't have a perfect grasp of Misaki's preferences.

Then I'll eat it. What do you want to eat?

It doesn't matter. I don't need to eat.

Misaki said that and looked at her smartphone again.

I ate lunch with Sakura. Sakura was happily eating her pudding. Seeing that smile made my heart feel a little lighter.

After the meal, I gave Sakura a bath. I helped her brush her teeth and change into her pajamas. I read her a picture book and put her to sleep.

Goodnight, Sakura.

Goodnight, Papa.

Sakura kissed me on the cheek.

When I returned to the living room, Misaki was still on the sofa. The TV was off. The room was quiet.

I sat down next to her.

Thank you for today.

When I said that, Misaki asked, What for?

For taking care of the house. Thank you for everything you always do.

Misaki thought for a moment before answering.

I'm just doing what's expected.

I suppose so.

I smiled. Misaki smiled back at me a little.

A silence followed for a while.

At that moment, Sakura came down from the second floor. Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she walked over to Misaki.

Mama.

Sakura tried to climb onto Misaki's lap.

Misaki picked Sakura up. It was a rare occurrence.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm thirsty."

Sakura said in a small voice.

Just as I was about to stand up, Misaki said to Sakura,

"I'm sorry we're poor."

Time stopped.

Something in my head snapped with a loud crack.

"What?"

I looked at Misaki. Looking down at Sakura, she said it again.

"Since Mommy isn't working, I'm sorry we're poor."

Sakura looked up at Misaki, looking confused.

My heart pounded violently. I could feel the blood draining from my face.

"Why would you say something like that?"

My voice was trembling.

"Because you're always saying we don't have any money."

Misaki's voice was flat. It was as if she were talking about the weather.

"I never said that."

"Yes, you do. You say things like 'save money' or 'shop more carefully.'"

"That is—"

"I feel sorry for Sakura."

Misaki said, stroking Sakura's hair.

"I'm sorry we're poor."

In that moment, something inside me broke irrevocably.

An annual income of ten million yen. We have a mortgage, but objectively speaking, we are a wealthy family. I let Sakura take lessons, dress her in nice clothes, and buy her toys.

Poor?

Is my hard work considered "poverty" to Misaki?

Is the life I built with money earned by working myself to the bone considered "poor"?

Is it justified for Misaki to say "I'm sorry we're poor" to our three-year-old daughter?

I stood up. My legs were shaking.

"I am doing my best."

No voice came out. It felt as if my throat were clogged.

Misaki looked up at me. There was absolutely no sign of understanding in her eyes.

"That may be, but reality is reality."

Reality.

My efforts do not become "reality" to Misaki.

No matter how hard I work, no matter how much I earn, it is nothing more than "poverty."

I couldn't say anything anymore.

Sakura said "Mama" while sitting on Misaki's lap.

"It's okay. Daddy is doing his best for us."

Misaki said that as she hugged Sakura.

But it was Misaki who had just said, "I'm sorry we're poor."

It's a contradiction. But for Misaki, both are likely the truth.

I headed to the study. I closed the door and sat in the chair.

On the desk lay the presentation materials for tomorrow. There were also documents for next month's goal setting. Everything was for my family. For Sakura's future.

But my efforts are "poverty."

To Misaki, I am the symbol of "poverty."

I covered my face with my hands.

I felt like crying. But I couldn't.

I only heard the sound of something deep inside my heart breaking completely.

Chapter 4: A Crumbling Heart

That night, I remained at my desk, unable to move for hours.

Even after the clock passed eleven, and then twelve, I just sat there. I didn't turn on the computer. I didn't read the documents. I just stared into the void.

After putting Sakura to bed, Misaki returned to the sofa as usual. She turned on the TV and was watching a variety show. I could hear her laughter from downstairs.

"I'm sorry we're poor."

Misaki's words repeated in my head over and over again.

Am I really poor?

An annual income of ten million yen. This is more than double the average annual income of a Japanese person. Statistically speaking, I am in the top few percent.

But to Misaki, that is "poverty."

My efforts go unappreciated.

My exhaustion goes ununderstood.

My existence is the cause of our "poverty."

It was one in the morning. Misaki's footsteps came up the stairs. The sound of her heading to the bedroom.

She didn't call out to me. It was the usual.

Two in the morning.

I was still sitting in my chair. My body was cold. But I had no energy to move.

I thought.

What am I living for?

For my family? But my family doesn't need me. No, they need the money, but they don't need me as a person.

If I were gone, if the life insurance paid out, Misaki and Sakura might be able to live more comfortably than they do now.

At that moment, I suddenly realized.

I am thinking about dying.

But it wasn't an active desire for death. It was just a longing for non-existence.

I want to disappear.

I want to be freed from the responsibility, the pressure, and this misunderstood suffering—freed from it all.

Three in the morning.

I left the study and headed to the living room. The bento Misaki didn't eat tonight was still on the table.

I ate it. It was cold and tasteless.

Just then, Sakura came down the stairs.

"Daddy?"

She called out to me in a small voice.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm thirsty."

I brought Sakura some water. She sat on my lap and drank it slowly.

"Daddy, you're working hard, aren't you?"

Sakura said that suddenly.

I was surprised.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you're always tired."

Even a three-year-old child could see my exhaustion.

"Thank you, Sakura."

I hugged Sakura. She was the only one who understood me. She was the only one who needed me.

"Daddy, I love you."

Sakura whispered in my ear.

In that moment, something warm flowed through my chest.

I felt like I had found a reason to live.

I took Sakura to the bedroom and tucked her into bed. Misaki was already fast asleep.

I returned to my study once more.

But I no longer stared into the void. Sakura's "I love you" had lit a small light in my heart.

That's right. I have Sakura.

For this child, I can do anything.

Even if Misaki doesn't understand me, even if she doesn't value me, as long as I have Sakura, I can keep going.

But that light was small and fragile.

And I didn't yet know that even that would soon be taken away from me.

The next morning, I woke up as usual and headed to work as usual.

Misaki said, "Good morning." I replied, "Good morning," as well.

As if nothing had happened, daily life continued.

But my heart had definitely changed. Something was broken. Irreparably so.

Even so, I had no choice but to keep walking.

For the sake of my family.

For the sake of Sakura.

For the sake of my own reason for existing.

Final Chapter: The Words You Used to Kill Me

A week passed since then.

I worked as usual and returned home as usual. I kept my conversations with Misaki to the bare minimum. Only the time I spent with Sakura was my salvation.

Monday night once again.

I returned home as usual. As usual, Misaki was looking at her smartphone on the sofa. As usual, Sakura was crying upstairs.

But today, something about me was different.

When I picked up Sakura and went downstairs, I said to Misaki.

"I'm tired."

Misaki looked up from her screen.

"Good work today."

It was her usual mechanical response.

"That's not what I meant," I continued. "My heart is tired."

Misaki made a troubled face.

"A cold?"

"I'm talking about my heart."

"I don't really get it."

Misaki truly seemed not to understand. My words, "my heart is tired," were incomprehensible to her.

I couldn't say anything more.

Just then, Sakura started crying on my lap. She must be hungry.

"Can you make some food?"

When I asked, Misaki shook her head.

"I'm tired."

"I'm tired too."

"But you're just sitting there, aren't you?"

It was the same conversation all over again.

I let out a sigh.

"Fine. I'll go buy something."

As I tried to stand up, Misaki said to Sakura.

"I'm sorry we're poor."

It was those words again.

My body stiffened.

"Stop it."

My voice was trembling.

"Stop what?"

"Those words. Don't say that to Sakura."

"But it's the truth."

Misaki replied calmly.

"It's not the truth," I said firmly. "We are not poor."

"Face reality," Misaki's voice was laced with irritation. "You're always saying we don't have any money."

"I'm just talking about saving money."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

It was not the same thing. But Misaki didn't understand the difference.

Sakura looked up at me and Misaki with an anxious expression.

At that moment, Misaki said it again.

"Sakura, I'm sorry we're poor. It's because Daddy doesn't earn enough."

The world stopped.

Inside me, the last remaining piece of something shattered completely.

"My earnings... are low?"

My voice was raspy.

"Ten million yen a year... is low?"

Misaki frowned.

"But you're always saying we don't have enough."

"That's because you—"

I started to say, then stopped.

It was useless to say anything anymore.

To Misaki, my efforts were worthless.

My sacrifices meant nothing.

My existence was nothing more than a "husband who doesn't earn enough."

And now, she was trying to drill that into our three-year-old daughter.

So that Sakura would grow up to despise her father.

So that she would think, "Daddy doesn't earn enough."

I stood up.

My legs wobbled.

"Where are you going?"

Misaki asked.

I didn't answer. I couldn't find the words to answer.

I headed to the study. I closed the door and locked it.

I sat in the chair and covered my face with my hands.

I tried to cry, but no tears came.

There was only a feeling of emptiness.

My heart had died.

Misaki's words had killed me.

I didn't die physically. But the core of who I was had been completely shattered.

My hope, my pride, my sense of purpose—everything.

Ten o'clock at night. Misaki knocked on the study door.

"I bought some food."

I didn't answer.

"Are you in a bad mood?"

It wasn't a matter of mood. But Misaki didn't understand that.

"I have an early day tomorrow, so I'm going to sleep."

Misaki's footsteps faded away.

I looked at the photo on the desk. It was from our wedding. Misaki and I were laughing. We looked so happy.

Back then, I had hope for the future.

I believed that I could build a wonderful family with Misaki.

But we had been living in different worlds from the very beginning.

In my world, effort is rewarded. Love is conveyed. We can understand each other.

In Misaki's world, none of those things exist.

And I must accept that reality.

One o'clock in the morning.

I left the study and headed to Sakura's room.

My daughter was sleeping peacefully in her small bed.

I gently touched Sakura's cheek.

"I'm sorry."

I apologized in a small voice.

"I'm sorry that Daddy is weak."

I felt as though Sakura had smiled slightly while still asleep.

I sat there for a while.

I will live only for this child.

Even if Misaki doesn't understand me, even if I'm not appreciated, as long as this child is here.

But deep down, I knew.

I am no longer the person I used to be.

The me who was killed by Misaki's words no longer exists.

The life ahead of me is a life lived with a dead heart.

It is a life of quietly continuing to break down in a closed room called a family.

From the outside, we probably look like a happy family.

A high-earning salaryman, a stay-at-home wife, and a cute daughter.

But the reality is different.

I am already dead.

By Misaki's unconscious cruelty.

And tomorrow, and the day after, this situation will continue.

I must go on living with a dead heart.

That was the fate assigned to me.

Monday night.

The lights in the house look warm.

But inside them, I was already dead.

Quietly, without anyone noticing.

This was the story of the words of yours that killed me.

The End

The characters and organizations appearing in this novel are entirely fictional. There is no intention to promote prejudice against any specific disease or disability. I would like to add that family issues are complex and should not be judged from a one-sided perspective.

I have a request.
This novel was written using the paid version of ChatGPT.
So, if you are planning to shop on Amazon, could you please purchase through the link below?
Please let the advertising revenue cover the cost of the paid version of ChatGPT.
(This is an Amazon Associates advertisement.)