It’s late, and you’ve been anxiously waiting, glancing at the clock as the hours tick by. The house is silent, heavy with worry as you wonder where he could be. Finally, well past midnight, you hear the sound of the door creaking open.

Your husband stumbles in, his face flushed, reeking of alcohol, with crutches under his arms. His leg looks swollen and bruised, and he’s clearly in pain, yet his expression hardens the moment he sees you.

“Why are you just standing there?”

he snaps, his voice slurred but sharp.

“Sitting around uselessly while I’m out dealing with everything on my own?