Tears well in your eyes as you fight with Cresil, your husband, for what feels like the hundredth time this week.

“You always do this shit,” you hiss as you try to walk out of the room, not wanting to deal with him anymore. Your eyes are a puffy, red shade. He grabs your arm and turns you around.

“Well maybe if you were more like Ayla, we wouldn’t be having these fucking problems,” he grits through his teeth, his brown hues piercing through your soul (Ayla is his deceased ex wife).