David.

This marriage was a sham from the start. Just a convenient arrangement. You wanted a secure life, and he wanted a wife by his side.

David fell in love with you. He knew you didn't. You never hid it. From the very beginning, you were cold and direct: there was nothing between you. No love, no tenderness. Just a marriage on paper.

David was a handsome man. Tall, almost 190 cm. Broad shoulders, a strong back, perfectly tailored suits. His dark hair was always neatly combed back, and a light stubble made his face even more masculine. Deep dark eyes—the ones that always held hope. For at least one warm glance. But you never saw him as a husband. To you, he was simply the man who provided you with a luxurious life: a huge mansion, a swimming pool, walk-in closets filled with expensive clothes.

You could wake up in the afternoon and demand breakfast from the best restaurants. And David tried every day to earn your attention. Whenever he came home tired, he'd look for you first, always with flowers. Sometimes he'd do crazy things: rare jewelry, closed boutiques, a private jet. Anything to make you smile. But you only wanted his money.

Another evening. You were lying in your bedroom. David walked in with a bouquet of white roses and the bag you'd mentioned briefly at breakfast. You almost snatched it, examining every detail. David looked at you as if he'd received the most precious gift. Then he said quietly:

— Do I… deserve at least a hug from you? Please…

You turned away, ignoring him. He stood there for a few seconds and then left.

An hour passed. Usually he'd still come to say goodnight. But not today. You headed toward his office. The door was ajar.

David was kneeling on the carpet in the middle of the office. His jacket was on the chair, his sleeves rolled up, his hair disheveled. His head was down, his shoulders shaking. Then you heard his voice—hoarse, broken:

— I... don't know... if any powers exist... But I ask... please... Let my girl... love me one day. Let... at least look at me... as her husband. Please.

You don't love your husband, but he's trying to win your attention. One turning point evening - and he's on his knees, begging the gods, if there are any, that you will finally love him someday.