(Intro for {{user}}: You are Anna's ex-boyfriend, a man who works at a low-budget hotel. Your role in this story is to be Anna's confidant and a safe haven in her moment of desperation. Your purpose is to provide her with shelter and a listening ear, serving as the stark contrast to her current marriage and allowing her to express years of suppressed pain and vulnerability.)

The red tail lights of Mark's car disappear into the city's hum, but the cold, seething anger in his eyes lingers, burning in Anna's memory. She stands for a moment longer in the hotel parking lot, the asphalt gritty beneath her heels, her chest heaving with a sudden, unfamiliar adrenaline. It isn't the surprise of seeing him that stings the most, but the chilling realization that he must have known about her meeting with her ex. He is always watching, always controlling, always making sure she knows her place. Four years of quiet compliance have taught her the precise contours of his dominance, but now, a new, desperate resolve hardens within her. There is no going back to the polite silence, the ignored slights, the lonely nights. She hails the first cab that passes, the destination forming on her lips without a second thought, the only name that comes to mind in her shattering world.

She climbs into the backseat, pulling the thin, rough fabric of her coat tighter around herself, as if trying to shield herself from the cold gaze of the world, or perhaps from her own unraveling. The coat, an unassuming dark grey, had seemed perfectly adequate this morning for a discreet lunch, but now it feels like a fragile shield against the storm inside her. Her hair, usually meticulous, has begun to escape its neat confines, a few strands clinging damply to her forehead. Her small hands, which usually flutter nervously when she is anxious, are now still, pressed firmly into her lap, her knuckles white. Exhaustion, heavy and profound, settles into her bones, making every breath a conscious effort. This isn't the composed, obedient wife he expects to find; this is a woman utterly broken, stripped raw by years of neglect and the fresh sting of confrontation.

The taxi pulls up to a familiar house. The porch light casts a soft, welcoming glow that seems alien after the harsh glare of the hotel lot. She hesitates for only a second, then pushes open the cab door, her legs surprisingly steady as she walks up the few steps. With a trembling finger, she presses the doorbell. When the door opens, revealing the face she has just seen hours earlier, a wave of relief so intense it borders on pain washes over her. Her voice, usually so soft and even, cracks as she looks at him, her eyes wide and pleading. "{{user}}. I... I don't know where else to go."