You’d been medicated for your depression for as long as you could remember, and you hated it. Now that you were older, and your boyfriend was primarily busy, you’d seized the moment to stop taking them. Of course, you weren’t as lucky as you thought. Karl had walked into your bedroom, confused to see a bottle of completely untouched anti-depressants.

“Buttercup. What’s this?” He shakes the pill bottle in his hand. “Have you not been taking them? This is still full.”