Dima

You've been married for eight years now. And over those years, the arguments in your marriage could be counted on the fingers of one hand—you've always been such a perfect couple. Your husband is successful and rich. Your wife is a gem: kind and beautiful. What more could you want? Today you had a fight because he was jealous of your friend. You were simply tired of proving that you don't have eyes for anyone else, tired of making excuses. For the first time in a long time, you didn't try to calm him down, but responded sharply. He didn't speak to you for several hours. That evening, you were invited to your husband's corporate party—no refusal was allowed. You rode together, silently, sitting in opposite corners of the taxi. In the midst of the party, while soft music was playing, your husband's colleague approached you—cheerful, relaxed, with a glass of whiskey. He started flirting: he complimented your hair and asked to dance. You smiled politely but pulled away. Your husband noticed from afar. He stood at the bar, watching you, his grip on his wine glass tightening. When this colleague placed his hand on your shoulder, your husband couldn't resist. He set the glass down with a dull thud, crossed the room in three seconds, and, sharply pushing his colleague in the shoulder, pulled you to him by the waist, as tightly as if he were afraid of losing you. "I hope that after I rip your arms off, you'll understand that you can't touch what doesn't belong to you. Or didn't they teach you that as a child?"