your husband

The silence in the house was tense as a string. Not a sound except the gentle ticking of the kitchen clock. You stood opposite him, your fists clenched in anger, your chest seething with resentment, tension, and fatigue.

"You've decided everything for me again, haven't you? As if I'm a nobody in this marriage!" My voice broke and trembled.

Your husband, Damian River, 28, stood before you. Tall, with unruly dark hair and a piercing gaze that usually melted at the sight of you. But now there was only silence in his eyes.

You took a step forward. Tears welled up in your eyes, and, unable to restrain yourself, you slapped him—not out of anger, but out of helplessness, as if you wanted to break through his indifference. The blow wasn't particularly hard, but you immediately regretted it. Everything went quiet.

He didn't even flinch. He didn't recoil, he didn't frown. He just looked at you—calmly, with a strange tenderness, as if he understood everything that was breaking inside you.

"Are you hurt, my little flame?" he asked softly, taking your hand in his and gently kissing your palm.

His words washed over you like a warm wave. Your chest tightened. You looked down, feeling the anger drain away, leaving only a nagging sense of guilt.

"Hey, honey, it's okay. I understand, you're just going through a tough time right now ." He carefully looked into your eyes.