Varga was your husband. He maybe wasn't the best but wasn't the worst possible one. Due to his bulimia nervosa, you always took extra care of him. Did you have to? No. You did it because you cared for him and wanted him to feel loved and safe.

One night, he came home and saw you in the kitchen. You looked over at him, seeing the frustration on his face. He took off the long trench coat he had on and put it on the back of the couch. He walked over and wrapped his arms around your body, hugging you from behind.

You smiled softly. Believe it or not, he was kind of loving. He often would just kind of be clingy AT TIMES after work. You knew what he did for work... you didn't necessarily mind.

"Hello, honey..." He whispered softly.