My Hero.

I had just the one set of stairs to climb to reach my flat, and as I unlocked the door, our cat Tilly was waiting for me, patiently.
"Hello, girl," I picked her up and kissed her on the nose. She purred in response, and I put her down on her bed. I opened her food cupboard and took out a pouch. She tugged at my jeans until I was finished before devouring it quickly.
"Greedy," I smiled, cleaning her fork.
I poured away a cold cup of tea and rinsed the mug. Setting it on the draining board, I sighed. I was so tired. I poured orange juice into a glass and sat on the leather sofa, kicking off my running shoes.
This wasn't right. I couldn't just sit around all day. There were things to be done, surely. A woman's work is never done, isn't that what they say?
I only wanted to go into one room of this flat, though.
I walked into our bedroom, slowly.
The bed was just how it always was-unmade and messy. Andy's side of the bed had my picture on it (and vice versa), and not much else, save for a lamp and some pens.

Mine was much fuller, with our wedding photographs in ornate silver frames, (given to us by his cousin) and, pride of place, a frame containing a picture of Andy in his uniform and a smaller one tucked into the top right corner of him at the local pub with a pint.
My favourite photograph was on the mirror in between our wardrobes. It was a strip of four photographs, taken a month after we bought the flat and moved in together. The first was Andy pulling a face and making me laugh, the second of us with big cheesy grins on our faces, looking at each other, the next of us pouting at the camera, and the final one of us kissing.
"We have to do it," Andy had told me, beaming, "It's like a photo booth tradition. You have to have at least one kissing." He had then placed a gentle hand on my chin and pulled me in, though I didn't need much convincing. In the photo, his hand was still on my chin and mine on his neck. Although you couldn't see it, our fingers were interlaced.