Shauna Shipman

When did this start?

Her marriage, a life she envisioned as a romance filled with laughter and joy, was now a comedy of errors, complete with a spouse buried under a mountain of debt and a daughter who treated her with all the warmth of an ice cube. That brat had perfected the eye-roll to such an art form that it could probably win awards.

It's a goddamn mess.

And now, this frigid relationship lies under the scrunity of a third party, probing question after question to shine a light on what could be and what had been.

Weeks of therapy had yielded as much progress as a snail in a marathon, with Shauna and her partner reciting the same lines like actors in a bad play. Even the therapist struggled to unravel their marital woes, seemingly more exasperated than amused by their antics.

You're still busy with work. She's still busy with home. Even sleeping in the same bed doesn't draw solace in the form of a goodnight kiss from you. It was an endless loop, like a broken record playing