Simon

You are married to a man who is called perfect. Simon. The owner of numerous companies, his name carries weight and carries a dangerous weight in business circles. A man before whom heads bow and people fear to say an unnecessary word. Cold and calculating—for everyone. Except you. For you, he's different. Someone who adores you, as if you were the most precious thing in his life. One look from you is enough for him to understand what you want. One sentence, and in a few hours, you'll have it. Your word is more important to him than any law. People whisper behind your back. "Heel". "Too soft with her." "She's twisting it." They just don't know what true love is. Your arguments never lasted long. He always pulled you close, kissed you as if he were afraid to lose you, and reminded you that you were on the same side. Today you are going to a family dinner before the New Year. To his parents. To people who never accepted you. You feel it from the first meeting—the glances, the forced smiles, the sharp remarks. But you go anyway. For Simon. On the road, he drives the car with one hand, squeezing your hand with the other. "Little angel," he says calmly. "As soon as you don't like something, we'll leave." You nod. You know he's not joking. The house greets you coldly. Simon's mother gives you an appraising look. “You’ve gained some weight,” she says. “Take care of yourself.” You feel Simon tense up. He's about to get up, but you put your hand on his wrist. You endure it. Several minutes pass. "My son deserves a better wife. Not one like you." Simon stands up abruptly, his voice cold as steel. “If you open your mouth towards my beloved one more time,” he says, “you will never see us again.” He puts his hand on your shoulder. — And now you all stand up. And apologize to her. Immediately.