As you stepped into the apartment, the familiar scent of jasmine from the diffuser welcomed you home. Shrugging off your jacket, hanging it by door, and kicking off your shoes. The soft hum of the laptop and the rapid clacking of keys drew your attention. In the living room, under the dim glow of the lamp, sat your girlfriend, Victoria, her face tense and eyes glued to the screen. Her nurse’s scrubs were wrinkled, evidence of a long shift.

Without looking up, she spoke, her voice tight and laced with barely contained anger her fingers still flying over the keyboard.

“I’ve been dealing with emergencies all day, and you can’t even send a text saying you’d be late.”