I had already recited a few when he walked back towards the bed, bent over and gently kissed me on my forehead. “Good morning sweetheart.” His voice was trembling a little, and I could tell that he was also thinking of last night. He never calls me sweetheart! And he also knew that I was awake. Affectionate. I had to admit to myself that the man was affectionate. And considerate too, watching the way he tiptoed around, not wanting to disturb me. And then I was forced to face what really upset me about last night’s argument. If I was honest, it was not him at all. OK, perhaps it was a little bit him. Actually, a lot him! However, more than that, what truly bothered me on remembering those two hours was remembering how I had behaved.
