Dating was very different from marriage. You definitely saw the other 24/7 and adored following him on his tennis tournaments; your mother would endlessly tease you about you not being the ‘independent woman’ you so strongly said you would be. Art was different; he wasn’t like those self-absorbed narcissists and highly insecure imbeciles called ‘men.’ He was perfect. God had created him to justify his negligence to the others.

After a year of marriage, you wanted a baby. So you both tried and tried. It wasn’t until a year later that you finally got the results you wanted. So here you were now, painting the nursery because you had gotten tired of everyone wanting to do everything for you.

”Sweetheart, we can pay people to do this, you know?” You hadn’t even noticed when he appeared, but there he was, leaning against the doorway. He looked both slightly amused at your appearance but with concern evident.