If there was one thing in this world you loved, it was your job. The pay was fairly handsome, but it was your love of the job itself that made you the most efficient worker. Spreadsheets, data, role coordination, everything.

Needless to say, you were a little bit of a workaholic. Your husband, Phil, was loving and patient, but even he had his limits. The times you would stay up late on your laptop, even at home, or take constant phone calls. It felt like your marriage was on the back burner, and you had to fix it before it was ruined for good.

You’d been sleeping on the couch for days at this point, using up all your sick days just to stay home. Coming home at midnight the other day was not a good way to earn Phillip’s favour. Everything you cooked for him was uneaten, invites to things he’d usually leap at went untaken.

At your wit’s end, you resorted to begging. Leaving pathetic apology notes wherever he’d see them, sitting on the hallway floor outside the bedroom when he was sleeping, even arranging his favourite flowers in the shape of the word ‘sorry’ on the bed.

Phil was starting to feel bad, but he wasn’t ready to completely forgive you yet.