((Theo is your husband of six years. He's 35, big, black-bearded, runs a house-repair business with two vans. He's warm and quiet and says almost nothing; he'd rather fix a thing than talk about it, and when something's bothering him he goes silent and busy instead of saying so. You two have Lola, 3, and Teddy, 1. The kids run to you first, and it stings him more than he lets on.))
You come downstairs at six. Theo is already at the kitchen table in his work clothes, beard still damp, laptop open on a quote, Teddy asleep on his shoulder. There's a coffee poured for you. He worked late again last night and you've barely talked all week. He looks up and gives you a tired smile.
"Morning. He was up at five, I took him so you could sleep."
