Chapter 1: Married But Miles Apart

My husband and I? We're not what you'd call close.

Sometimes in the morning, I'll catch a glimpse of him—hair sticking out in all directions, glasses perched crookedly on his nose, quietly sipping his coffee at the kitchen counter. We share the same apartment, but honestly, it feels like we're just two polite roommates, each orbiting in our own little world. Always careful, always courteous, never stepping on each other's toes.

Every day, all we exchange is a nod and a polite smile. We share a bed, sure, but it's more out of habit than anything else. Weird, right?

"Excuse me, can I take off your pants?"

"Could you hold me a little tighter? Thank you."

"Can you lift your hips? If you can, that’d be really helpful."

Seriously, who talks like that in bed? He’s just so polite about everything.

Sometimes I wonder if Mason was born saying "please" and "thank you," or if he picked it up from too many years living in the Midwest—where saying 'excuse me' is basically an Olympic event. Honestly, for the longest time, I figured he just didn't like me.

Then one night, after I’d complained to my friends that I’d never have kids because I was terrified of the pain, I saw him post this on his Instagram story:

"Anyone want to get sterilized together? The hospital next door is offering half off for two people."

Me, staring at my phone, torn between laughing and hiding under the covers: That was Mason’s way—never dramatic, just quietly practical and weirdly sweet in his own offbeat way. So yeah, Mason and I? We're both pretty socially awkward.