THREE MONTHS BEFORE WORLD WAR III.
Oromia, Ethiopia.
A young man was getting married.
The preparations had already begun.
Family members had opinions about everything.
The food.
The guests.
The clothes.
The ceremony.
Where people would sit.
Who should be invited.
Who absolutely should not be seated beside whom.
And somehow...
everyone seemed more prepared for his marriage than he was.
So before the day arrived, the young man went to see his father.
He found him sitting quietly outside.
The son sat beside him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the young man cleared his throat.
"Father."
His father looked at him.
"I need one final piece of wisdom before I get married."
The older man immediately became serious.
His son leaned closer.
"What's the secret to a long and happy marriage?"
The father stared into the distance.
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His expression became that of a man preparing to pass down knowledge accumulated through generations.
"My son..."
The young man listened carefully.
"It is very simple."
He nodded.
"You and your wife must divide the decisions in life."
The son raised an eyebrow.
"Divide them?"
"Yes."
The father lifted one hand.
"Your wife will make all the small, unimportant decisions."
Then he lifted the other.
"And you..."
He paused.
"...will make all the great, life-changing decisions."
The young man's eyes widened.
He slowly nodded.
"That actually sounds wise."
His father smiled.
"Of course it does."
"Can you give me some examples?"
"Certainly."
The father adjusted his seat.
"Your wife will decide the small things."
"Like?"
"Where you will live."
The son blinked.
"How much money you should save."
Another blink.
"How the children should be raised."
The young man slowly turned toward him.
"What you will eat."
"...Father."
"What furniture you will buy."
The son stared.
"Those are the small decisions?"
"Very small."
The young man became increasingly confused.
He thought for a moment.
Then asked the obvious question.
"But Father..."
"Yes?"
"If she decides where we live, how we spend our money, how we raise our children, what we eat, and what we buy..."
He spread his hands.
"...what exactly is left for me to decide?"
His father straightened his back.
Pride entered his expression.
"The truly important things."
The son waited.
His father raised one finger.
"Whether the United States should raise interest rates."
Silence.
A second finger.
"Who should win the football World Cup."
The son stared at him.
A third finger.
"And whether humanity should colonize Mars."
The young man said nothing.
His father nodded proudly.
"Those are the decisions that shape civilization."
"...And my wife decides where I live?"
"Exactly."
"How much money I have?"
"Yes."
"My children?"
"Correct."
"But I decide Mars?"
His father placed a hand on his shoulder.
"My son..."
He looked him directly in the eyes.
"Someone has to think about the future of humanity."
The young man stared at him.
Then his father laughed.
The son tried not to.
He failed.
Soon both of them were laughing.
Someone inside the house called for them.
Wedding preparations continued.
Family members argued about food.
Someone had changed the guest list again.
Someone else was looking for something that had been sitting directly in front of them.
Life continued.
Ordinary.
Messy.
Human.
The young man stood.
Before leaving, he looked at his father.
"So if something goes wrong in the marriage..."
His father immediately interrupted.
"Small decision."
"That's hers?"
"Obviously."
"And if humanity fails to colonize Mars?"
The father sighed.
"Then, unfortunately, that is your responsibility."
The son shook his head and walked away laughing.
His father remained seated.
Neither of them knew how strangely those words would age.
Because while they joked about who should make the great decisions...
real great decisions were already being made.
Far beyond their home.
Inside government buildings.
Military headquarters.
Secure rooms.
Across borders.
Across oceans.
Leaders discussed security.
Power.
Weapons.
Retaliation.
Alliances.
What their enemies might do.
What they themselves were willing to do first.
Every side believed its decisions could prevent something worse.
Every side had reasons.
Every side had fears.
Every side believed there would still be time to correct the next mistake.
There were three months left.
Three months before questions about Mars became irrelevant.
Three months before families would stop worrying about furniture.
Three months before millions of people who had never entered those rooms...
would live with the consequences of decisions they had never been allowed to make.
Back in Oromia...
the young man returned to his wedding preparations.
His father smiled as he watched him leave.
For them...
it was still an ordinary day.
THREE MONTHS BEFORE WORLD WAR III.