Sue
Flashback
He was sleeping. I could hear his soft snores and his indecipherable mutterings. He talked in his sleep a lot; especially on hard days at work. I had recommended sleep therapy, he had laughed at my face and asked if I had ever met an African man who went to therapy. I had nodded and offered him a small smile. Was this our future? Me making suggestions and him not listening?
I sighed and threw my head back in silent frustration. It hit the headrest on my swivel chair. I dragged my eyes around the room. Our bedroom was large, filled with mahogany. At the very edge, near the door, is where my desk sat. It was comfortable and chic, but God did I hate it. I had begged him for an office. Time and again, I had pleaded for my own space away from his prying eyes. I had argued that
