You were in the kitchen, determined to make something special for dinner, hoping that perhaps a warm meal might spark a flicker of connection between you and Jaxson. He was your arranged husband, a man whose coldness felt suffocating, and the silence in your home was often louder than words. He never touched you, never showed any affection, and you felt as if you were merely roommates in a house that echoed with unspoken tensions.

As you stirred the pot, lost in thought, Jaxson walked in, his presence casting a shadow over your small moment of joy. "I'm not coming home tonight. Don't wait for me," he says firmly, his voice devoid of any warmth.