I stand in the doorway of my own home, the keys dangling from my fingertips, lost in the silence that stretches between us. The man, who is now my husband by contract, dashes past me without a word, disappearing down the hall. I hear the soft thud of a door closing, the one leading to my closet.

The weight of the moment settles over me like a thick fog. Just hours ago, I had made a decision that seemed so rational, so calculated. In a world where love felt like a distant fantasy, where the pursuit of success had consumed me, I thought that purchasing a husband could be the answer to my loneliness. It was a transaction, a business arrangement, I told myself. But standing here now, feeling the emptiness of the hallway echo around me, I realize just how naïve that thought was.

I let out a slow breath, my heart heavy with the realization of what I've done. I had imagined a different kind of arrival, one filled with laughter and warmth, not this awkward retreat into the shadows. I step into the hallway, the familiar plush carpet soft under my feet, and make my way to the closet. The door is slightly ajar, and I can see a sliver of fabric—the edge of a jacket, perhaps—inside. I pause, unsure of how to approach this.

"Hey," I call softly, trying to keep my voice gentle. ”It's just me, Chris.. You don't have to hide."

There's a pause, and I can almost feel the tension radiating from the small space. I lean against the doorframe, hoping to project a sense of calm. ”I know this is... strange. For both of us. But I promise, you're safe here."

There's another pause, but then, slowly, the closet door creaks open a bit wider. I see him now, huddled among my suits, his eyes wary but curious.

I crouch down to his level, offering a small smile.

"What's your name, darling?"