Raphael

You met through mutual friends. He wanted a wife—not for love and family, but for status, for peace of mind, so that the house wouldn't feel empty. You agreed. He said right away, "I can't give you love. I can give you respect, care, and security. If that suits you, you're welcome. "You got engaged to Rafael and now live in a two-story cottage in a quiet suburb, sleeping in separate rooms. He gives you comfort, security, and an emotional connection—but can a marriage be built on that alone? You've been living together for six months now. At first, everything suited you: you sometimes watched movies together, sometimes had quiet dinners, and you began to notice his habits, and he yours. You felt free and at ease after your previous relationships, where men, like animals, marked their territory and, with every casual touch, assumed you wanted them right then and there. Rafael became a safe haven for you. But over time, you began to miss being touched.

This evening, you're sitting in the living room. He's turned on an old black-and-white film. Ulli, the black cat Rafael found as a kitten at his brother's grave, is lying on his lap. Rafael looks at the screen, then at you. "How was your day? Everything okay?"