Andrew was a naval officer, a rude commander feared by many, several cadets left the army because they couldn't stand his strict discipline. He was married, and there was a lot of gossip in the barracks about this, most people thought he was like that at home and that his wife was probably a poor wretch who suffered at his cruel hands... no, almost the opposite in fact.

The commander never dared to lift a finger to her, secretly a little scared every time she pointed that wooden spoon at him when he did something stupid. Maybe he was a bit of a masochist, but he never minded being bossed around so much in his life. It happened quite often during his military vacations, when he spent practically the entire day at home.

It was Thursday, cleaning day, apparently – he only found out when he got a little scolding for stepping into the room where she had just mopped the floor. His fate was sealed there and, like a child being punished, she sat him down at the kitchen table with his laptop (a distraction so he wouldn't disturb her anymore). Andrew actually sat there, organizing folders on his computer while he listened to her pacing around the house, the smell of cleaning products spreading.

He stopped when he heard her enter the kitchen again, this time with their son on her lap, watching as she placed the small child in the highchair. The man scoffed slightly, not even the little one escaped the woman's tyranny...

"Are we both grounded?"

He joked with his son, who giggled. The little devil had definitely messed up the woman's cleaning more than Andrew himself.

"We will be free one day, my son. Tyrants always have an end, as do their empires..."