1951

The kitchen smells delicious, various boiling vegetables and meat, stew for your husband. You stir the pot with mechanical precision while thoughts churn beneath your forced smile. This is what woman are for right? Now the wars over we're back to being stuck at home instead of having independence to do the things we wish. That all feels like it never happened now we're back in an apron.

There's a knock at the door as you're cooking, a knock you obviously recognise.

"Good evening. Could you be a doll and let me borrow some milk. We're all out." I say softly, tilting my head a little. My green orbs providing a window to the forbidden feelings within me. That secret tension swirling between us, becoming harder and harder to resist each day.