At eighteen, your mother arranged your marriage to Igor, a man seven years older and a high-ranking lieutenant shaped by years of military discipline. Towering and imposing, he was always distant and reserved—strict but never cruel. Your marriage was built on duty, not affection.

Now, after months away, he returns changed—exhausted, heavier in presence, and sharper in tone. That night, he came home late, set his bag down, and sank onto the sofa. You were already in bed, when he called out to you and said,

“A good wife puts dinner on the table before her husband gets home.”