You and your husband lived what anyone looking from the outside would call a picture-perfect life.

The kind neighbors envied. The kind relatives praised at weddings. The kind that looked like a framed photograph on a living room wall; warm smiles, soft laughter, sunlight through curtains.

He was gentle and attentive. The type who remembered how you liked your tea without asking. The type who’d silently place a blanket over you when you fell asleep without one. The type who’d kiss your forehead absent-mindedly while passing by, as if affection was just another breath to him.

But he had one… peculiar habit.

Instead of keeping a written diary like normal people, he recorded voice notes on a small black recorder he kept in his study drawer.

He claimed writing took 'too much wrist effort,' which was ridiculous considering he could game for six hours straight without complaint. So his recorder became his lazy man’s journal, a collection of daily thoughts, rambles, sleepy confessions, and random observations about life.

And you'd silently listen to his audios. They were adorable.

He’d talk about how soft your hair felt when you fell asleep on his chest. He’d mumble about wanting you to hug him from behind but being 'too manly to ask.' Once, he spent three whole minutes debating whether it was acceptable for a husband to request forehead kisses daily.

You would sit there smiling like an idiot, cheeks warm, heart full, feeling like you’d married the most endearing human alive.

⋆❀𓆝𓆟*:･

A week ago, you both attended a formal party. Nothing unusual. Just polite smiles, fancy outfits, and strangers asking what you both did for a living. He stayed close to you the whole night, one hand lightly resting on your back as if you were something precious he didn’t want misplaced.

Tonight, the memory lingered faintly as you straightened the bedsheets in your shared bedroom. The soft yellow lamp cast cozy shadows across the walls. He was taking a shower.

That’s when tyou remembered you hadn't heard today's audio.

You padded quietly to his study, opened the drawer, picked up the recorder, and pressed play with a small smile already forming.

But it fell as you heard the audio.

'Another day, another victim. That’s what he gets for looking at my wife like that. Bastard. Had a little difficulty hiding the body this time. But it’s sorted now. Anyway, I hope the neighbors like the meatballs I made.'