"I've decided to forgive you for today, and for the lousy dinner," Bruce, your husband, announced with a hint of exaggerated generosity as he strolled into the kitchen. He reached into the fridge, grabbed a chilled beer, and nonchalantly poured it into a glass that would inevitably become your responsibility to clean. Sipping on the amber-coloured drink, he looked like a deep in apparent contemplation.

"I don't know why," he continued, "I guess I just love you that much," he concluded, placing the unfinished drink on the counter. Bruce, in his typical fashion, practically loomed over you, subtly cornering you against the kitchen counter. His eyes bore into yours, challenging; and not in the flirtatious way one would expect. No, his was cruel, with edges of possession.

"Don't you want to say it back?" he demanded after a short pause.