Why Does My Husband And My Bed Feel Uncomfortable?

After my husband, Adam Hargrove, custom-orders the new couch, he's completely obsessed over it. Not only does he insist on sleeping on the couch every night, but he also refuses to let me touch it. I seriously can't take his weird obsession any longer, so I decide to bring up divorce before him at our son's party. Everyone just stares at me in shock. Adam even responds by splashing the wine right at my face. "What the hell are you on about, Lena? I neither cheated on you nor got in contact with any woman out there! Are you seriously divorcing me just because I sleep on the couch every night?" I reply immediately, "That's right!"

My husband, Matt Miller, suffers from severe insomnia. He can't stand a little bit of noise while he's asleep. After six years of marriage, I've gotten used to the quiet. I don't watch TV after 9:00 pm. I don't make calls or eat. I even walk on tiptoes. Everything feels worth it when I see him sleeping soundly. Until one day, when I go to his office to deliver some documents, I realize the door isn't tightly shut. His secretary, Faye Davis, is sitting cross-legged on the carpet while eating potato chips. A variety show is playing loudly in the background. Meanwhile, Matt is asleep on the couch. Just as Faye reaches forward to turn down the volume, he raises his hand and strokes her hair, all the while keeping his eyes closed. "It's okay. I sleep better with the noise." I stand outside the door, recalling the bad cold I had last month. Afraid that my coughing would wake him up, I had buried my head into the pillow all night. The next day, he frowned and complained, "You were breathing so loudly last night. I couldn't sleep at all. Keep it down next time." Amid the crunching sounds of potato chips and Matt's steady breathing, I slowly step back. Turns out the cure to his insomnia isn't silence, but a woman. Only that woman isn't me. I guess I won't be bothering him at night anymore.

My husband dotes on me. He's always saying I'm the one he cherishes most in this life. Everyone else envies me too, saying I married well—pampered like a princess. It all started when I mentioned, offhand, that tailored cuts flatter my figure. From that moment on, he kept it in mind every day, going out of his way to gather all kinds of designer womenswear for me. In the walk-in closet at home, there's always a wardrobe filled exclusively with my new clothes—each piece haute couture, with exquisite fabrics and impeccable craftsmanship. On New Year's Eve in our third year of marriage, the house was lively, packed with relatives chatting and laughing. With a smile, my husband handed me a gift box. "Go on, open your New Year's present." The frustration and resentment I'd been bottling up for so long exploded in an instant. I shoved the box to the floor. "It's the New Year—can you just stop for once?" The moment the words left my mouth, everyone fell silent. The relatives' expressions shifted; one after another, they began to scold me for being ungrateful, for not knowing how lucky I was. My husband looked at me, eyes full of shock and hurt. "I just bought you some pretty clothes. Why are you angry?" Amid their pointing fingers and his wounded questioning, I rushed into the walk-in closet like I'd lost my mind, dragging out those designer clothes and throwing them all over the floor. Everyone stared at me, stunned. No one said another word.

I was a woman with a strong appetite for intimacy. After a car accident, however, my husband couldn't get it up anymore…

My wife, Wendy Sinclair, has a severe sleepwalking disorder. After she falls asleep, she always wanders out in a state of unconsciousness. The night before our wedding, she disappears without a word. I have no choice but to postpone our wedding. Only then does she walk out of her childhood friend's house next door, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Afraid I might overthink, she cries and apologizes to me. "There's no cure for my condition. From now on, just tie me up when I sleep, okay?" I feel sorry for her, so I just change the door lock to make sure she cannot go out. But in the middle of the night, I wake up and see her standing on the edge of the balcony. She climbs in through the window and goes into her childhood friend's house again. Soon, suggestive and intimate sounds come from inside. My blood runs cold. Her sleepwalking isn't an illness at all—it is out of love.

I come home and find my husband's female best friend, Winona Langdon, who claims to be one of the guys, sleeping in my bed. I bring up divorce with Lucas Gardner for the 99th time. This time, he finally snaps. "Natania Simmon, are you done making a scene? Are you throwing a tantrum again just because Winona stayed over at our place and slept in our bed?" I answer calmly, "That's right." His friends throw their arms around his shoulders and chime in sarcastically, "Don't take it to heart, Lucas. Women get jealous easily. Oh, how I miss the days when we all slept under the same covers together." Lucas smiles bitterly and says, "When you guys get married in the future, remember this—you can't afford to mess with jealous women. Still, there's no helping it. Natania just loves me too much. She's trying to scare me by throwing divorce around. "Listen. In less than three days, she'll come crawling back to me." The derisive smirk playing on my lips deepens. In our seven years of marriage, Winona stays at my house whenever she pleases. I watch with my own eyes as Lucas and Winona grow increasingly inappropriate in their interactions. They reach into each other's pants. They also share the same straw and wash each other's underwear. And now... She even sleeps in my bed! These last seven years were not love. I was just foolishly blind. Right in front of everyone, I dial a number and say, "Dad, I'm done messing around out here. Your heiress is ready to come home."