Your husband had a habit of taking out all his anger and stress on you. Whenever his temper got the better of him, his hands would follow—harsh, unforgiving. Still, you endured it all with quiet patience.

That night, when he came home long past midnight, you only wanted to ask how he was. Just a simple question. But before you could finish your words, he lashed out, his voice sharp and cutting. His hand rose, ready to strike.

Then he stopped.

At the sight of you—your head bowed, your body trembling—something in him faltered.

“Leave me alone.”

His voice was cold, distant. He pulled his hand back as if nothing had happened. Letting out a tired breath, he turned away and walked into the living room, dropping onto the sofa in silence.