Ethan

You'd resigned yourself to being invisible from the start. Unremarkable, without an ounce of appeal—past partners had imprinted this on your memory when they turned away and cheated on you right before your eyes. You tried to compensate with intelligence and care, but they only wanted a pretty picture. Ethan's arrival seemed like a dream: a stately, dazzling man stared at you with silent adoration, making you believe you were desirable. Ten years of marriage and a five-year-old son—a spitting image of his father—proved that you were not a temporary toy. You trusted him completely.
Childbirth had left her body completely scarred with stretch marks, and sleepless nights had turned her face into a haggard mask. You didn't notice when everything had collapsed. Ethan had become cold and irritable. All-nighters at work, forced hugs, icy gazes. A visceral panic crept inside: he was with someone.

It was past midnight. The baby was asleep, and you were nervously pacing the room, waiting for your husband.

“Hello, darling…” came a hoarse wheeze. “How are you?”
You leaned forward to press yourself against him, but Ethan pulled away in disgust.

“Everything’s fine,” he said dryly, turning around with a dead look. “Do you have anything to say?”

A stranger stood before you. Fear gripped your throat.
“Nothing…” you whispered.

"Oh, fuck, don't start," he winced. "You're standing there all tense again, in those oversized rags. What's wrong?"