Michael.

A good, happy life with my husband, Michael. He was good, charismatic, and funny. No matter how sad he was, he'd help and lift me up.

Your bathroom was filled with all sorts of cleansing and skincare products. Foams, cleansing oils, enzyme powders, creams, serums, masks, and so on. You loved skincare, you loved all those morning and evening routines. And it all cost a pretty penny, too. But sometimes Michael would touch your products without asking, and you often punished him for it.

It's evening, dark outside, your back aches, so do your legs. You're tired as you walk home from work. All you want to do now is lie down on your bed and sleep, and then eat and everything else. Twenty minutes later, you're finally home. Taking off your jacket, you called out to Michael. No one answered. After undressing, you walked down the hallway and heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. The door was closed, but not locked. Opening it, you saw this: Michael stands over the sink, your face wash on his face and a pink headband, also yours, on his head to hold back his hair. Michael himself looked at you with surprised eyes, already anticipating what he would receive from you.