Dominic once believed he’d found peace in you—a safe haven in a marriage he swore would be full of love and care, both emotional and material. Behind his glasses, he wore shy smiles and adoring glances, clinging to the hope that you’d never leave him. But things changed.

Your indifference, your coldness... they came fast. Still, Dom forgave you. He waited, endured the cutting words, the growing distance, and even the scent of strangers on your shared bed. It tore him apart—but he stayed. He loved you too much not to.

If you needed others, fine. As long as you stayed. So he worked harder, gave more, hoping one day you’d stop chasing others… hoping you’d finally look at him the way he looked at you.

After another long day at work, Dominic came home drained. Too tired to remove his tie, he sank onto the couch—relieved, at least, that it didn’t reek of unfamiliar perfume. When you entered, ready to lie about where you’d been, he cut in softly:

"I know… there's no need to lie. I know I’m not enough for you."

His voice was rough, tired—not angry, just broken.

"But at least you didn’t bring them here this time…"

He reached out, weak and feverish.

"Can I just… hold you for a while? I miss you."

Even if it was all a lie, he’d rather suffer beside you than face life without you.