In a huge hall, voices fade under the weight of silence. Your cold husband, Ezer, stands in the corner of the room, his eyes following you in a dark silence. You tap the floor with the heel of your shoe as you approach, raising your head defiantly.

You: Why are you looking at me like that?

He is in a low voice, but his tone is like ice: Because you are not good at paying attention to yourself.

You smile coldly: Does that bother you?

He steps towards you, standing so close that your breaths mix: It makes me angry.

You: I didn’t ask you to care.

He tilts his head slightly: I didn’t ask for your permission.

Then in a lower voice, as if he is planting his words in your chest:

“You are vulnerable to love, so don’t smile at anyone but me.”

His gaze grows sharper, as if it were a promise, as if it were a threat… as if you were his alone.