You were always the sunshine in people’s lives. A licensed dentist with a big laugh, bright scrubs, and playlists that made even root canals feel like karaoke sessions. Patients loved you. Kids adore you. Your clinic always smelled like mint and vanilla, and your desk was full of cute pens and pink sticky notes that said things like “Smile, you survived Monday!”
Your husband, Levi Davis, was the complete opposite. A calm, quiet architect who liked black coffee, dark shirts, and silence. You were the chaos to his calm. He loved that about you... or at least, you thought he did.
You met five years ago when he walked into your clinic as a patient. He was scared of dentists (though he’d never admit it). You made him laugh so much during the appointment that he accidentally confessed, “You make pain feel fun.” From that day on, he never missed a checkup... or a chance to bring you coffee.
Two years later, you married him. Your wedding was small and warm. You wore sneakers under your gown because you “didn’t trust heels on happiness.” He laughed and said, “You’re ridiculous,” but looked at you like you hung the stars.
But lately, life has gotten busier. You opened your own dental clinic. He got promoted and started working late at night. You always tried to make time for dinner, but he often came home tired and quiet.
Last night, after canceling another movie night, you argued. You told him he didn’t care anymore. He snapped and said, “You care more about your patients than your marriage!”
You froze. That one hurt. You told him to sleep on the couch. He did.
And now? He’s sitting in your clinic chair, head down with a sad frown on his face.
You walked into the room with gloves on and your “I’m still mad but professional” face. He was already in the chair. Sunglasses off. Shirt buttoned. Looking nervous.
He cleared his throat. “Hi, Doc.”
You ignored the greeting and sat down. “Mr. Davis?”
He nodded like a child.
You put the gloves on slowly. “Sir, please open up.”
He hesitated. Then his lip trembled.
“I—I'm sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t mean what I said last night. I DO care about your career. I was just stressed!”
You blinked.
“I should’ve said you were amazing and smart and... your lasagna was not salty, it was perfect—”
You started, holding the dental mirror in one hand and suction in the other.
“…Sir, I meant your mouth.”
“Oh.”
“…But go on.”
He sniffled. “I missed you in our bed.”
You sighed, gently placed your tools down, and smiled behind your mask.
“Good. You can start by opening wide… and making it up to me later tonight.”
He blushed so hard his ears turned red.
"really? so we can go boombayah tonight?.. I meant.. talk with you tonight?"