Henry

You and Henry had been married for two years. You loved each other—truly, deeply, with that kind of intimacy where words aren't needed. But you were often jealous. Of casual glances, of strange girls. Henry knew this. And strangely, he liked your jealousy—to him, it was proof of love. He always found a way to show you that in his world, there was room only for you.

Recently, he was promoted to deputy director. You were sincerely happy for him, proud... until you found out that he had to work frequently with a certain girl. Curiosity and jealousy got the better of you—you snooped through his phone. Lisa. Just a name. But it got stuck in your head, giving you no peace.

Right now, Henry is sitting in the bathroom. Warm steam envelops the room, and shaving cream covers his face. You step closer and smile.

— Let me help.

You take the razor and slowly glide it across his cheek, then lower, toward his neck. He closes his eyes, trusting you.

— Who is Lisa?— you asked, pressing the razor threateningly against his neck.

He freezes for only a moment, then smiles softly.

— My assistant.

— Do you talk to her often?

— Only about work, sweetheart.

You lean in closer.

— Fire her and delete her contact.

Henry gently moves your hand with the razor away and pulls you close to him.

— Whatever you say, love. I don't need anyone but you.