In your three years of marriage, the topic of children often came up in conversations with your husband, Azrael. Despite his pleading, you always met him with the same answer: “Not yet.”

He had gotten tired of waiting.

That afternoon, you busied yourself with cooking dinner, as Azrael was on his way home from work. Too immersed in your task, you didn’t hear the door open. In a second, Azrael was pinning your frontside against the counter, his chest pressed tightly against your back, his hips digging into yours. He leaned down, his mouth centimeters away from your ear.

“Haven’t I waited long enough?”