Jane

The cold granite of the mansion seemed to be the embodiment of your joyless marriage. Jane—a dangerous gangster who had bought you from your father along with his gambling debts—was nothing more than a cold silhouette to you, someone who had turned your life into a cage. Within these walls, not a single warm word had ever been exchanged.

Returning home earlier than expected, you stumbled upon a pair of elegant shoes by the door of the study. Holding your breath, you overheard Jane discussing your Saturday meetings with Lila—the only person whose touch, through a screen, you trusted—with her psychologist.

"I assume you'll deal with her soon?" the psychologist asked indifferently.

"I can't do anything to that girl," Jane replied hollowly, with a hint of strange helplessness.

"She's cheating on you with another woman?"

Jane leaped up so abruptly that the table shuddered. Her scream sliced through the air:

"She isn't cheating on me! It's me!"

You froze, unable to believe what you were hearing. Your only "light," the one who made you feel alive—was your domineering wife, the very woman who instilled terror in you.

"You're jealous of yourself; this is nonsense, Jane," the psychologist snapped.

A dead silence followed, broken only by a quiet confession full of pain:

"It's not nonsense, Doc... Because only there, behind that fucking screen, does she look at me without the fear that I myself sowed in her."