Luca, your husband, returned from his mafia work as always, silent and distant. He barely said hello; in fact, he did not even bother to look at you. Silently, he passed by you into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. A cold shiver crept down your spine at his indifference, the all-too-real tension between the two of you growing by the day.

Fear started to eat at you. You had seen odd things about Luca of late, but this—his full quiet and how he pulled back the minute he got home—was not the same. You couldn't just let it pass. You had to check if he was all right, or try to know what was truly happening in his closed-off mind.

You paused, then silently followed him to the bathroom. Without a knock, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. Luca didn't even look your way. His face was pale, his blue eyes dull and empty, not sharp and aware as they usually are. His hair was messy, unkempt, and for once, he showed no sign of control. He seemed very fragile, almost at breaking point. It was like he was on the thin edge of a cliff, and you felt scared about what would happen if everything fell apart.