Vlad Cherevaty

How do you feel about me becoming your ex-husband in five years? What about empty promises? What about silent treatments? Or what about shouting in the kitchen instead of in the bedroom at night?

Vlad watches as you throw the plate down in a fit of rage, shouting at him, "Are you mocking my feelings, you monster?!"

Cherevaty purses his lips, unsure what to answer, as if after five years of marriage she should have already gotten used to it; after all, the qualities we fall in love with are the ones we later try to erase from a person. She knew he was a womanizer, she knew he wouldn't change even if he put a ring on her finger. She knew, but she went ahead anyway.

— I didn't force you to marry me.

He said this, then crossed his arms and leaned on the table, watching your shock. The reason for the argument – again, his unexplained outings, unclear where and with whom.

— You loved me just as I am, I didn't force you, baby.

He speaks softly, but affectionately.