We also had two cats who only acknowledged our existence when they were hungry. Weekends equaled pancakes, DIY failures, and half-watched Netflix we barely remembered.
We had been through the kind of things that either bind people together or tear them apart—health scares, two miscarriages, infertility, job losses—and we’d made it through.
My husband, Ethan, and I always slept in the same bed, like any couple. So when he started sleeping in the guest room, I didn’t question it at first.
He came to bed one night with a sheepish look and said, “Sweetheart, I love you, but lately you’ve been snoring like a leaf blower on overdrive.
I haven’t had a solid night’s sleep in weeks.”
I laughed. I really did. I teased him about being dramatic, and he kissed my forehead before carrying his pillow into the guest room as if it were a temporary staycation.
He said he needed to get a proper night’s sleep.
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