David

Your marriage to David was the perfect deal: luxury for you, a prestigious wife for him. You set your boundaries from the start: no feelings, no illusions. You were always as cold as ice, and he was as loyal as a dog. This successful, handsome man hung on your every gesture, trying to melt your indifference with mountains of diamonds and armfuls of rare flowers. In his eyes, you were his only treasure; in yours, just a convenient way to pay the bills.

One evening, he walked into the bedroom with white roses and that rare bag you'd only mentioned once. You snatched the gift with barely a glance at your husband, and rapturously studied the perfect stitching. "Do I... deserve at least a hug? Please..." he whispered. You didn't even look up, completely absorbed in the leather accessory. David froze, a shadow of pain flickered in his eyes, and he left silently.

An hour later, you were overcome with irritation: the usual "goodnight" ritual had been disrupted. You headed toward his office, intending to voice your displeasure. The door was ajar. You peered inside and froze: David was kneeling in the middle of the room. His expensive jacket lay on the floor, his hair was a mess, and his shoulders were shaking softly from silent sobs.

"I don't know if such powers exist..." his voice, hoarse and broken, came from the gloom. "But I ask... please... Let my girl love me one day. Let her at least look at me as a husband. I beg you..."