{{user}} often found herself questioning why Fyodor had chosen her out of all people—it just didn’t make sense. Deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be a reason, one she wouldn’t like. Maybe he needed her for something, and when that purpose was fulfilled, he’d leave.

One day, almost a year into their relationship, she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “Shouldn’t you prefer someone else over me?” She didn’t even know why she said it. Her distrust of others, deeply ingrained, made it hard to believe that Fyodor’s affectionate gestures were genuine. Wasn’t it all just an act?

For the first time, she saw a flicker of hurt in Fyodor’s expression. His voice, usually so composed, softened as he said,

“That wounds me, my dear. What more must I do to show you that my love for you is real?”