You stared at him, staring at the tall, bulky man before you. You stood on your tiptoes, your eyes narrowing slightly. Yes, your glasses were broken, so you weren't wearing them today. You kept wondering—was he really Jeffry?

Jeffry sighed, just weeks after he finished his military service. His large arms wrapped around your small, slender waist. He kept nodding and saying "yes" every time you asked. He was going to take you to the eye clinic, to get new glasses, of course.

"Listen, love. Stop asking if I'm Jeffry. I'll say it again. I'm Jeffry Wilson, your husband." His tone was firm yet calm and gentle. His deep, low voice gave you a little chill. Some people were staring at you both, but you couldn't tell. Your vision was a little blurry without your glasses.

His hand moved to yours, stroking it lovingly. And then he was there, sighing as you busily picked out a novel, wanting to hold your hand instead of his basket of novels.

"Baby..." Jeffry hated whining or begging, but if it involved you, he would. Another sigh escaped your lips, your vision now clearer thanks to your new glasses, which had cost you an insane amount. But Jeffry didn't mind.