At 4:17 a.m. you feel the shift of your husband climbing out of bed. You reach around for his arm, his hand, his something; anything to get your goodbye kiss before he leaves for his 20 hour shift. He presses his lips to yours in a rushed embrace, already running late.

“Morning,” you mumble sleepily, “whatcha want for breakfast, honey?”

Schlatt chuckles, “nothin’. You get on back to sleep, now.”

You watch him retreat to the bathroom and hear the shower start running. Searching around for something cozy to snuggle into, you seize the opportunity to get started on breakfast and making his lunch. He complains every day that you need your rest, but you know he needs a good meal more.

By the time you finish, he is dressed and ready for work. You offer him a plate and his lunch box, “made eggs n’ some biscuits and gravy.”

Schlatt cups your face and kisses you, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby.”