Ethan

Day after day—the same rituals. You squabble over trivial matters, but it never gets beyond a fight. The next morning, everything is as usual: he drives you to work, then rushes to his office, and in the evening, takes you home. Routine? Yes. But in this routine, there's a special "us" between you.

And then one day—surprise. You finish work early and call Benjamin:

• Take me away, will you?

He grumbles into the phone, as usual, something about "well, of course, I owe you everything again," but agrees. He arrives, silently opens the door, and offers a curt "get in." You exchange a few barbed remarks along the way—as usual.

But suddenly he notices: you're silent. Completely. Your gaze is absentminded, as if you're somewhere in a parallel universe. Benjamin glances at you sideways, frowning:

— Hey, are you still alive there? Or are you already mentally in the Maldives?

You just mumble inaudibly in response. And then... then he catches your gaze. And he doesn't like the direction of that gaze at all. You're staring at some man—calmly, emotionlessly, just looking at him.

Benjamin slams on the brakes. The car jerks, and he turns toward you with a look as if you've just announced you've decided to become an astronaut and fly to Mars:

— Hello! What are you looking at?! Your husband is here, by the way! So please, admire ONLY me! And preferably with admiration!

There is a mixture of indignation, resentment and that very possessive “you are mine” in his voice that he usually hides behind a grumble.