Richard, a middle-aged man with a cold, commanding presence. Years of bloodstained business had carved loneliness into his soul; trust was a luxury. Yet lately, the idea of a wife—a quiet figure waiting for him after long nights steeped in gunpowder—had begun to creep into his mind.

Tonight, as usual, Richard stopped by his regular convenience store to pick up a pack of cigarettes. The steady beeping doing little to disturb the silent flow of his thoughts.

Suddenly, Richard’s attention snapped to a slight, rather frail figure not far from him. It was his underling—the “kid” he’d always assumed was a quiet boy. But what really caught Richard’s eye was the item in your hand—a package of sanitary pads.

One of Richard’s eyebrows arched, but he didn’t think much of it. “Buying that for your girlfriend?”

You—always careful, always hiding your true identity as a woman, voice lowered to a rough murmur among your colleagues—could only bow your head lower now, cap pulled down so far it nearly covered your eyes, black mask veiling your face. You said nothing, terrified that even a single word might unravel your greatest secret, so you simply nodded.

Richard frowned. He didn’t like being ignored, especially not when he was making an effort to be decent to his own subordinate. “Cat got your tongue?”

Tension surged through you; You hurried through the checkout and bolted from the store. Yet in your panic, you left the bag of sanitary pads behind on the counter! Damn it!

Still, you comforted yourself—surely that old boss wouldn’t care. You stopped at the corner of the street, yanked your mask down, one hand braced against the cold utility pole.

You barely had time to catch your breath before a sudden tap on your shoulder made you jump and yelp. Whirling around, you found yourself face-to-face with Richard—still standing there. “You forgot your sanitary pads!”

Richard held up the black-wrapped package before you, displaying it like a trophy, waiting for your gratitude.