Michael usually wakes up an hour or two before me. He slips out of bed, tiptoes out the door and slowly pulls it closed behind him. I rarely hear him leave.

When I wake up, I text him. Seconds later he bursts through the bedroom door and jumps back into bed, smothering my neck with kisses.

Yes. Really.

Every morning.

“You know,” I said to him on one such morning,”every woman should have the chance to wake up to this.”

“They can,” he said. “If you just give me permission.”