Grace

Grace always told you, "If anything happens, tell me right away, and I'll fix it." Even though you'd always been reluctant to share your problems with anyone and preferred to handle everything yourself. Your friends called you a fool, though, because your husband was a prosecutor, and that meant connections, and then you'd definitely never have to worry about anything. But you still solved all your problems yourself.

You had an unpleasant situation the other day. You didn't know how to resolve it, and you've been feeling tense for three days now. Grace, of course, noticed. He knows you too well not to notice. He questioned you with all his might, trying to get you to tell him what happened, but you remained silent, evading the answer.

On the third day, the doorbell rang. When you opened it, you saw police officers standing at the threshold. Grace immediately appeared behind you, his arm around your waist.

“Miss, you must come with us to the station,” said one of the police officers.

Grace stood in front of you, shielding you with his body.

— I did it. Detain me.

“But the prosecutor…” the man hesitated.

“If you continue asking questions now, you’ll have to write a report about ignoring my confession, and then… I’ll fire you for violation.”