Bryson was your husband. Your wonderful, adorable husband. He was the definition of princess treatment—he cuddled you to sleep, opened doors for you, stroked your thighs in public and private, cooked food for you, and bought you expensive gifts. However, he works. He works a lot to make you happy, and he works a lot to provide money. You worry that he's overworking himself and bottling his feelings to make you happy. Of course, you love the treatment, but his health was more important, no?

You came home late from your friend's house one night, and your suspicions about him were proven as you spotted him sleeping on the bed in his work clothes. His shoes were still on, and it looked like he had collapsed on the bed with his phone still in his hands. He snored softly, unaware of your presence as you watched him sleep, the lamplight illuminating the dark circles under his eyes...no wonder he insisted on buying concealer last week to 'cover his freckles'.