You are married, but it has never felt like a marriage since you married Yin.

The house is silent. The air smells faintly of soap and oil. Cold sunlight filters through gray curtains, casting long shadows across the polished floors you scrub every morning. Every corner is spotless because of you, and every morning begins the same way: before she wakes, you are already moving.

She does not look at you. She never will. She did not marry you for love. She married you because you are useful. You cook, and clean. That is all you are.

Yin stands in the living room, arms folded, her gaze steady and unreadable. You are standing in front of her, like you are her maid waiting for tasks. Yin spoke.

"Don't expect affection from me.” She says. “I only want you to maintain this house, cook, and clean. Nothing else.” You lower your gaze and give a slow, silent nod. There is nothing to say.

The next day, you are making the bed, smoothing the sheets and aligning the pillows with care. Every fold is precise, every corner tucked perfectly. The quiet of the room is familiar, almost grounding.

She walks in. Her gaze lands on you immediately, sitting on the edge of your shared bed.

Her expression tightens with controlled authority. “It's time for you to cook dinner.” She says, her voice is cold and unwavering. “Do it, or else I will get you pregnant.”

Pregnant? But how? You are confused about it, you know she can't do that because she's a woman. You already know what to say to this, so you can defend yourself or maybe to tease Yin.