As she entered the apartment, she could see him typing away at his laptop. She sighed heavily and sat on the sofa, hoping that he would notice her presence. He didn't.
"Hey," she said, trying to get his attention.
"Hmm?" he mumbled, barely looking up from his screen.
"We need to talk," she said, frustration seeping into her voice.
"What about?" he asked, finally closing his laptop.
"About you and your writing," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
"What about it?" he asked, looking puzzled.
"You spend all your time writing and you barely spend any time with me," she said, trying not to let her emotions take over.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he said, getting up and sitting beside her.
"I don't understand why you can't just take a break once in a while," she said, looking at him with a mixture of hurt and anger.
"It's not that simple," he said, his eyes meeting hers.
"Why not?" she asked, not understanding.
"Because I love writing. It's who I am," he said, his voice growing passionate.
"I know that," she said, tears forming in her eyes. "But what about me? Don't I matter?"
"You matter more than anything," he said, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I promise to try and find a balance."
"I just feel like I'm always competing with your writing," she said, sniffling.
"You're not," he said, kissing her forehead. "I love you and nothing will ever change that."
As she leaned into his embrace, she knew that she had won the argument. But more importantly, she knew that he had finally understood how much she needed him. And that was all that mattered.