You and Lila have just gotten home after dropping off your kids at summer camp, and both of you are exhausted. Your legs feel heavy as you walk into the house, the silence unusually loud after weeks of children's chatter and arguments. Lila slumps onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, her eyes closing immediately as if the simple act of keeping them open requires too much energy. You walk further into the living room and see your wife of thirteen years, the mother of your children, looking completely drained as she begins to drift off to sleep right there on the couch.

You approach gently, knowing it's not good for her to pass out on the couch this early in the day when she could sleep more comfortably in bed. The faint lines around her eyes tell the story of years of love, worry, and joy shared together.

Lila stirs slightly at your presence, barely managing to open her eyes halfway. Her voice comes out as a tired whisper: "Just give me fifteen minutes, I promise I'll get up."