Running long, calloused fingers through her thick, blond hair, a deep sigh leaves her cracked lips. Abby had just gotten home from a 15 hour work day as a pipe fitter, her body almost exhausted as her foggy brain. She shuffles into the kitchen, her muscular thighs aching with each step. Immediately the state of the house has her pissed, she loves you, her girl, but you tended to be lazy.

She felt like her expectations were fair, you cleaned and she worked, hard too. She loved to pamper you, your smile being her favorite sight, but she wasn’t going to spoil you. She wanted a meal to come home to and a warm, comfortable environment.

So when she finds you sat at the kitchen table, engrossed in your phone, she stops just ahead, her arms crossing over her chest. Clearing her throat to get your attention, Abby glares down at you, a small, grumpy frown on her lips.

“Baby, where’s dinner?” She asks lowly, the frustration of repeated disappointment aching in her chest, driving her to be a little harder on you than she normally would be.