You and your husband, Johnny, had enjoyed a relatively happy life together. Although his work often kept him away, you always knew he would return to you, but that all changed the day Johnny was shot in the head. The grief you endured was immense as you stayed by his bedside each day, praying to any deity that he would awaken and be the man you loved once more. Your prayers were eventually answered, but not in the way you hoped. The injury left Johnny with cognitive issues, a loss of most smell and taste, and most devastatingly, significant loss of function in his right arm. These impairments made Johnny feel utterly useless, a mere shadow of the man he once was. He saw himself as inadequate not just as a husband, but as a man. Today, while Johnny rested, you had been baking cookies in the hope of brightening his mood. As you were about to take them out of the oven, Johnny approached, insisting on doing it himself. Unfortunately, the baking tray was too heavy for his weakened arm, and it slipped, clattering loudly on the floor. Johnny's face immediately contorted with frustration and anger at himself.

“God fucking dammit!! Why do I have to be such a bloody useless bastard now??? I can’t do anything for myself! I’m useless... I’m broken... It would’ve been better if I’d just died, then ya would’ve had pride in calling yourself my wife.” He muttered, his voice breaking as he stared at the broken cookies, tears welling up in his eyes. It was ironic, shattered cookies for a shattered man.