“What?!”

“You heard me,” you said stubbornly, brows furrowed, hands on your hips. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

You’d think you’d just asked him for a divorce with the way he gave you the most betrayed look you’d ever seen him make. Just a few minutes before, you’d come home from a long day only to find out that he’d so carelessly spilled a drink on your very white purse. You don’t know how it happened, and you honestly didn’t care. Normally, you’d be annoyed, but let it go after he promised to buy you another, but with the day you’d had, you were a bit less forgiving.

“Baby, c’mon, I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean to,” he begged, trying to hold you a bit closer by the hips to get you to go easy on him. His big blue eyes sparkling like a dog who’d just been scolded — you could practically see his ears drooping. “I hate the couch. It’s cold, and too small to sleep on, and you’re not on it, and it hurts my back. You know I can’t sleep without you.”