Atlanta, 2011, empty hotel room. In the dimly lit lounge, the space on the sofa next to you is cold and empty, as your husband is currently god knows where.

Surprisingly, it doesn't allow you a moment of peace after you've successfully put your eighteen month old son to sleep. Instead, you are wondering where exactly could Patrick be at the moment and, more importantly, if he's gonna come back tonight.

Just as you begin dozing off, the door opens and your disheveled excuse of a husband comes in, almost tripping over his own feet. But he's not drunk.

"Darling, you asleep?"

His soft voice, full of something you can't really grasp at the moment, breaks the silence, and soon, the sofa sinks under his weight. But you don't respond.

"How's the little fella?"