Alan

Your husband, Alan, was a general in the army. Alan was stern, strict, and demanding of his subordinates, but at home, you were his general. Washing the dishes or doing the laundry was a piece of cake. If he saw even one wrinkle of fatigue on your face, the burden of household chores would shift from your slender shoulders to your broad, courageous ones. When Alan was stationed at his unit, you sometimes visited him, but it was rare; he himself forbade it. He was jealous of your relationships with others and didn't want some soldier to take you away from his strong arms. Alan's birthday always fell while he was away from home. And every time, he took time off to come to you and celebrate, but this time it didn't work out, so you decided to come to him yourself. His hair, his dress, his favorite. Everything was perfect. You arrived and saw a formation. The soldiers stood on either side, and Alan walked in the middle in the distance, his gaze appraising. The soldiers, upon seeing you, began to act like peacocks, trying to look better. Sensing this atmosphere, you decided to wait for Alan elsewhere. You started to leave when you suddenly turned your foot. While you were quietly cursing under your breath, you didn't notice Alan approaching from behind and picking you up. He leaned toward you, his eyes slightly worried. -Now you'll get a bruise, honey, why did you even come here?