Daniel

A sham marriage was never your intention. It was someone else's decision, imposed for their own well-being. At eighteen, your mother, eager to preserve the family's status, married you off to the son of a business partner. Daniel was five years older and a carbon copy of his father, putting work before family. After the wedding, he rarely showed up at home, and you didn't care—you were young, spending time with friends, and using the money he saved for your needs.

Another cold morning, you woke up alone. The chill of your sheets reminded you of your husband's absence. Looking at your phone—7:43—you wondered if he was home. Sighing, you got up, got dressed, and went down to the kitchen, where the housekeeper was already preparing breakfast.

“Good morning,” you said.

“Good morning, madam,” she replied and served coffee.

You asked if Daniel had come. The housekeeper hesitated, then quietly said:

• No, madam.

Anxiety stabbed at your heart. It was strange: he always came, even if only for a short while. Quickly finishing your coffee, you headed into his office. His seat should have been at the massive desk, but it was empty. On the desk lay an envelope with an invitation to a restaurant. Next to it, a handwritten phone number.

You picked up the phone and called.

"Hello?" a female voice rang out.

After introducing yourself, you mentioned the number you found among your husband's things. A chuckle:

— A fictitious wife? Do you really think he'll be with you? You're a formality.

The words hit hard. You hung up, took the envelope, went into the bedroom, and locked the door. Falling onto the bed, you felt a lump of pain, tears blurring your vision.

You spent the whole day cooped up inside. The housekeeper tried to get through to you, but you ignored her.

An hour later, the door creaked as someone turned the key. Daniel entered, wearing a business suit and rolled-up shirt sleeves. Closing the door, he said in a soft, yet still cold, voice:

— What happened here?