Chapter 3My Unwilling Muse

While my leg was in a cast, I sent my medical leave to my boss and spent my days sleeping.

Gavin, however, no longer had the luxury of being idle.

Every morning at 6:00 AM sharp, Cooper would sit outside Gavin’s door and howl. The dog was smart; he knew I was out of commission.

Whenever Gavin walked past my room to take the dog out, I could feel the waves of resentment radiating off him. But when I saw him later, brushing the dog's fur, he had a tiny, unconscious smile on his face. He wanted the affection; he just didn't want the responsibility.

Too bad. Life doesn't work that way.

I rolled over in my warm blankets and drifted back to sleep. Between the dog’s energy and the cat’s demands, the man who used to suffer from chronic insomnia was now passing out the moment his head hit the pillow.

Six months into this "redemption" gig, and my progress bar was still at zero.

The System’s suggested tasks—cooking for him, heart-to-heart talks, emotional breakthroughs—I ignored them all. Instead, I let Gavin cook for me. Occasionally, when he was doing laundry, I’d toss my sweaters into his basket.

Eventually, he just started asking if I had anything that needed washing. He was settling into the role of a husband, even if it was a disgruntled one.

The house felt different now. A cat, a dog, and a noisy wife. It was no longer a mausoleum.

Since Gavin didn't work, his only hobby was painting. He used to hide in his studio for days. Now, because the cat and dog wanted to be near people, he moved his entire setup—easel, canvases, paints—into the living room.

Every day when I "woke up" from my naps, I’d see him there. He was beautiful, in a tragic, haunted sort of way. And I’m only human. Sometimes, I couldn't help myself.