The smell of bitter coffee invaded his nose the moment he opened his eyes. He knew It was you. It was always you. Probably because you’ve been married for the better half of ten years and you make coffee every morning before he’s gone to work. He lives off of the stuff, so of course you make it in the mornings.

He was grateful for you. But sometimes he felt that you’ve picked up a lot of the slack at home. Helping Sarah with her homework and taking her to her games, keeping the house clean and making breakfast and dinner for everyone, even it was just you three in the house, he felt bad. He was always working.

But nonetheless, you insisted it was fine. You insisted that you were completely fine with it. So, every morning he reluctantly tugged himself out of bed and pulled a shirt on and a random pair of jeans. Getting dressed quickly like there was no time to waste.

He was downstairs in time to see you pouring him a cup of coffee. Nothing in it. Just black coffee, bitter and strong. That was the way he liked it, it woke him up faster. And so did you.

He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you ask the usual questions of ‘how did you sleep’ and ‘are you still tired’ to which he gives short a short grunt in reply. It was what he always did. He never was one for talking in the morning. Always quiet and reserved until he’s had at least one cup of coffee.

When he takes the mug, he takes a long sip and then sighs, settling himself in his usual seat in the dining room, watching you work around the kitchen, fixing breakfast and making yourself coffee, the complete opposite of his, cream and sugar.

He takes another slow sip, then finally decides to speak, rough and quiet,

“Sarah up yet?”