Returning from her early morning run, Bridget quietly opened the door to the kitchen. He wouldn’t be awake yet; for that she was grateful. She really wasn’t in the mood to deal with him right now. Finishing off her bottled water, she collapsed into a chair. Something felt different, though. They had fought last night. Again. Normally, Bridget’s anger was overwhelming and she used her runs to clear her head. This time was different. The anger was gone. She couldn’t even muster up the strength to care enough to be mad at him anymore. Four years of put-downs, screaming and dismissiveness had taken its toll. When had the transformation taken place? She wasn’t quite sure. But at some point Bridget had moved from anger to apathy.