The front door opened where a tired an weary female came in from the cold outside. She was greeted with a cozy blanket that had been warming on the radiator, put there for her arrival. It was being held by the smiling face of her husband.
Wrapping it around her, he led her to the sofa where he began removing her shoes so as to rub her aching feet. The room was full of the scent of an evening meal, almost ready, cooking in the oven. A glass of wine already poured, waiting on the table and the sound of running water for the bath he’d readied for her return.
These are the things I believe a partner wants from a relationship, not coming home to x-box and the prospect of then having to choose and cook tea. I might be wrong.