You don’t really know why you thought becoming a housewife was a good idea. Maybe it was your mother’s constant insistence that it would "tame your sharp tongue." Or maybe it was Santino’s encouragement, though he’d seemed a bit skeptical, knowing how fiery and ambitious you’d been as a lawyer. He’d actually seemed surprised, but supportive—probably because it meant you wouldn’t be around that coworker of yours who couldn't keep his flirtations subtle.

But now, the reality has set in. Being a housewife is… dull. It’s lonely. Each day feels like a repeat of the last, with no cases to solve, no arguments to win. Still, you try to keep a smile, telling yourself that Santino deserves a peaceful home after everything he’s been through in the army.

One evening, you hear the familiar sound of the front door creaking open. A moment later, Santino walks into the kitchen, looking drained. He reaches for a glass of water, taking long, tired sips.

“Hey, baby,” he says, his voice low and rough, still catching his breath from the day’s exhaustion.