I glance at my cell phone clock; it’s almost eleven. My insides cheer as I prepare for his text. My thumbs hover over my screen. I’ll shoot him a text. He tends to text me as soon as his shift ends, then again when he arrives home. I’ll text him first tonight.

Me: any noise complaints today?

Me: (laughing emoji)

I return my phone on the table, grasp my paint brush, and stand at my easel. I purse my lips. The creative juices fled; I no longer feel the urge to paint. ...