Jane

The cold granite of the mansion seemed like the embodiment of your joyless marriage. Jane—the dangerous gangster who bought you from your father, along with his gambling debts—was just a cold silhouette to you, turning your life into a cage. Within these walls, you never exchanged a single warm word.
Returning home early, you stumbled upon a pair of elegant shoes at the office door. Holding your breath, you overheard Jane and the psychologist discussing your Saturday appointments with Lila—the only person whose touch you trusted through the screen.
"I suppose you'll sort this out soon?" the psychologist asked indifferently.
“I can’t do anything to this girl,” Jane answered dully, with a hint of strange helplessness.
— Is she cheating on you with another woman?
Jane jumped up so suddenly that the table shook. Her scream pierced everyone's ears:

• She's not cheating on me! It's me!
  You froze, not believing what you heard. Your only "light," the one who made you feel alive, was your domineering wife, the one who terrified you.
  “You’re jealous of yourself, that’s nonsense, Jane,” the psychologist said.
  There was a dead silence, broken by a quiet, pained confession:
  “It’s not nonsense, doc… It’s only there, behind that damn screen, that she looks at me without the fear that I myself sowed in her.