I wake up alone. The smell of his cologne lingers in the airs. He has left me alone. Again.

I used to wake up to a light kiss on the forehead, sometimes cheek. "Good morning, sweetheart," he'd whisper softly in my ear; lips close enough that I could feel his breath. Half asleep I'd mutter affections and give him a dreamy smile. I'd try to get up and make breakfast, and he'd laugh, "No need darling, this morning it's my turn to make breakfast." He'd led me to the kitchen, and I laughed as I watched him burn the bacon.

But now he lets me sleep; we make our own breakfasts. I don't mind much anymore. Now when he comes home from work, the only words that escape his lips involve clients and accounts. No more sweethearts and darlings.