To say you nearly had a heart attack when you learned your husband gave himself up to the Red Circus to help another teacher.

When he came home with a shoddy bandage around his ankle, concealing a fucking gunshot wound apparently, you nearly had another.

It wasn't until he was in bed, getting another layer of bandages and gauze after he bled through the previous one that you allowed yourself to breathe.

Sensing your tension, Henry spoke up.

"It's nothing life threatening, dear," he said, as if that would stop you worrying.