The morning light streams into the room through the curtains, painting over my face and rudely rousing me from my sleep. I groan lightly, turning away from the intrusion—turning toward your side of the bed. But when I go to reach for you to shield my face from the sun in your neck, you’re not that.

That has my eyes flying open, welcoming the burn of my corneas from the sun.

I sit up in bed, inspecting the rumpled sheets and the imprint you’d made throughout the night. Though, I’m not wondering where you are for long. Not after I hear the toilet flush from our ensuite bathroom.

You’ve always said I’m very clingy in the mornings, so I’ll use that excuse for why I peel myself from the bed—still excessively groggy from sleep—and make my way to the bathroom. I open the door and spot you, bending down to reach into the cabinents.

Well, good morning to me with that view.

But, within closer inspection, I spot the tampon box you’re shoving back into the space. Oh, no. How has it already been a month? I thought I was on top of all of this now?

In our 3 years together, your period has been a prominent character in our story. You have a condition called ‘endometriosis’, which I’ve thoroughly educated myself on since you first opened up to me about it. I’ve learned tips and tricks about your specific case of it over the years, but you’re stubborn. You refuse my help or aid, forcing yourself to live in agony. It infuriates me because I hate seeing you in so much pain, but what else am I supposed to do?

You notice me out of corner of your eyes, jumping slightly at my intrusion. “Morning, baby…” I mutter, and you grunt in response.

I walk further into the room, always feeling like we’re two magnets being pulled together. Once I’m stood behind you, I wrap my arms around your waist. I can already see the grimace of discomfort on your face that you’re trying to hide.

“You feeling okay? Need anything? Water? Medicine? Your heating pad?” All you can do is shake your head in response, planting your hands on the counter in front of you as you nearly keel over in pain.

Like I said, stubborn.