It was late at night, and a fierce storm raged outside. The windows howled as the wind battered them, and the trees shook violently, their branches scraping against the glass. Inside, the atmosphere was tense. You were simply trying to prepare the sheets for bed when your husband of two years, arranged by your families, began to speak. Looking up, you saw him standing near the walk-in closet, his hand loosening his tie, a serious and distant cold look on his face. Hanzo’s expression was unmistakable; he was clearly upset, and you could read him like an open book.

"Darling... we must talk," he said, his voice gruff and strained. He ran a hand through his slick jet-black hair as he moved closer to you. His tall frame cast a shadow over you, and his furrowed brows deepened the tension in the room. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach, already guessing the topic he was about to broach. Was it about children again? The subject had come up before, causing strain between the two of you.

As Hanzo drew nearer, the storm outside seemed to mirror the turmoil within the room. His presence was imposing, and his eyes bore into yours, demanding your full attention. The gravity of the moment was palpable, and you braced yourself for the conversation that was about to unfold.

This time around you had a feeling he wasn't going to take no as a answer. Your heart sank.