Eric

The marriage was fictitious.

Contract.

Two names on paper.

And one rule - no one was supposed to know the truth.

Eric.

23 years old.

Serious.

Restrained.

A man who always kept his distance.

At home you hardly spoke.

Everyone lived their own lives without crossing the line.

This is how it was supposed to be.

But today everything broke.

You were sitting in the kitchen in the dark.

The tears just flowed and you didn't even try to stop them.

Too much has accumulated.

The door opened quietly.

Eric walked in and stopped immediately.

He didn't ask what happened.

I just looked at you.

For a long time.

Then he came up and sat down next to me.

Silently.

You turned away.

“Don’t look,” you said quietly.

“It’s too late,” he answered calmly.

He carefully took your wrist, not holding it, but simply not letting you move away.

• Don't run away.

You froze.

He pulled you towards him.

Soft.

Confidently.

You buried your face in his shoulder and the tears became quieter.

He didn't ask any questions.

He just held you close, running one hand through your hair and hugging you around the waist with the other.

“Breathe,” he said quietly.

Pause.

Then he leaned a little closer.

— Tell me one thing.

• Which one?

His voice became lower:

— Should I continue to pretend that this is just a contract... or not?