The next day at the hospital, while doing my rounds, a pair of hands suddenly pulled me into the stairwell.

Harry's usually clean-shaven face had stubble, and he looked a mess.

He buried his face in my neck, whining:

"Cheryl, can we stop fighting?"

"I got so drunk last night I forgot to come home. Why didn't you even check on me?"

Yeah right - we're breaking up and I'm moving out. Why would I care if he comes ...