My husband wears an expensive anti-snoring device. “Guh-nigh,” he says, mumbling through the mouthpiece — and discomfort — as we settle into bed. His bone-rattling inhalations used to set my teeth on edge. Now, only occasional “breakthrough snores” reach me. When I catch glimpses of the monstrosity in his mouth, I remember what he endures for my rest. In turn, I practice responding more gently when he irks me in daylight hours (“Always walking ahead of me on hikes? That’s all right!”). The contraption is meant to improve our sleep, but the real change is our newfound grace when awake. — Melissa Grego