I bought her this bar of chocolate. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a nice gesture, y’know. Something to show I cared. Anyway, unlike me, who eats a sweet treat as soon as it’s in my grubby mitts, she put it in a box under her side of the bed, saving it for later. The box was small and contained little knick-knacks, as well as a few hygiene products. It wasn’t a secret box. More like a personal box. One that wasn’t secret per se, but not for me to interfere with. So, one day, when she was at work, and I wasn’t, my hunger got the better of me. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I removed the bar of chocolate. The guilt was nauseating, but she’d had it for weeks without even touching it, and I was starving and didn’t have the energy to pop to the nearest shop. The idea was to replace it the next day before she knew. She didn’t look in the box every day. Well, at least I didn’t think so. As you can guess, the first thing she did when she got home from work after changing out of her uniform was to check the box. I was on my side of the bed, acting all innocent, hoping she might not mind. She immediately called me out on it. She was angry, then sad. Angry that I’d stolen her chocolate and sad because I’d invaded her privacy. She gave me the evols and then turned her back on me. It was a long night. No amount of apologising could make things better, and whenever I tried touching her, she just turned away, sobbing at my petty act of betrayal.