Krissie Coyne

Is this the end?

My head is pounding, and rubbing my fingers into my temples is doing nothing to ease it. Another miserable therapy session over that’s probably not much use to my crumbling marriage. Robbie still doesn’t understand why I work so much, and I still don’t understand why he can’t help more around the house. There’s still no solution to stop our arguments turning into slanging matches and ending with tears and slammed doors. The lift doors open with an annoyingly cheerful chime and I step in, Robbie silently sloping in behind me.