She woke up tired, bleary eyed and foggy. She lay in stillness while memories of the night before crept back into her mind, she felt her stomach drop and her jaw clench, she turned over and looked at the clock, 5:00am. He was still asleep drifting in and out of dreams, she assumed that had nothing to do with the night before. He looked peaceful, the gentle rise and fall of each sleeping breath made her regretful of the words she’d sprayed at him last night.

They only fought sometimes and normally always make up before going to sleep, but last night was different. They went to bed angry, her crying and him not saying a word - this wasn’t like them and she didn’t like this anxious feeling that was welling up inside of her.

She sat up on the side of the bed slid her feet into the fluffy slippers that sat underneath their bed, _their_ bed she thought - is it still our bed? What if she took it too far this time, maybe he wouldn’t forgive her, why did she say those things? Anxious thoughts were swirling in her head.

She tiptoed downstairs into the kitchen and made herself a coffee, black, extra hot. This was usually his morning routine, he always made her coffee in bed before she woke up, but this morning she made one for him, weak with one sugar and milk. Just the way he liked it.

She tiptoed back up the stairs and placed the coffees on the nightstand next to his side of the bed. The smell began to rouse him, but before his eyes began to open she ran her fingers through his hair and traced the ridges of his face. “I’ve made you a coffee” she said and whispered “I’m sorry”.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, then at the coffee. He didnt say anything, he sat up, put his shirt on and got out of bed. He placed his hands around her head, he kissed her softly on the forehead, picked up his coffee and went down the hall.

He didn’t have to say anything at all, she knew it was still _their_ bed. A coy smile lit the corners of her mouth. Everything was okay.