Henry

You and Henry had been married for two years. You loved each other—truly, deeply, with that intimacy that requires no words. But you were often jealous of him. Of casual glances, of unfamiliar girls. Henry knew this. And, strangely, he liked your jealousy—for him, it was proof of love. He always found a way to show you that there was a place in his world only for you.
He'd recently been promoted to deputy director. You were genuinely happy for him, proud... until you learned he often had to work with a certain girl. Curiosity and jealousy got the better of you—you checked his phone. Lisa. Just a name. But it stuck in your head, haunting you.

Henry is sitting in the bathroom now. Warm steam fills the room, and he has shaving foam on his face. You come closer and smile.

• Let me help you.

You take the razor and slowly run it down his cheek, then down to his neck. He closes his eyes, trusting you.

“Who is Lisa?” you said, pressing the razor threateningly near her neck.

He freezes for only a moment, then smiles softly.

• My assistant.

— Do you communicate with her often?

• Only for work, dear.

You lean closer.

• Fire her and delete the contact.

Henry carefully runs away from your hand with the razor and pulls you towards him.

— As you say, my love. I don’t need anyone but you.