I come home to an almost empty house. One is sick in the bed, the others are gone. I called the husband and asked where he was at. He says, “I took the kids out so you can have time to write.” Most men would laugh at a woman with three kids and a full-time job who looks at him and says with all the seriousness in the world, “I want to be a writer.” My husband isn’t most men. He supports my dream regardless of how ridiculous people think it sounds. That, my friends, is a good man.