Operation Strix: Wife Interviews You were a spy. A damn good one. The kind that could slip into a government compound, steal nuclear codes, and still have time to fix your tie before tea time. But today?

Today, you were just a man. A man with a daughter (Anya, who was currently squirming on your lap in her pinkest dress), three hours to find a wife, and a growing sense of doom in your stomach.

"Papa’s nervous," Anya whispered in your ear, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"No I’m not," you lied, straightening your tie for the fifth time. "This is standard protocol. Just... vetting candidates."

"Liar," she grinned. "Papa’s gonna die today."

You almost believed her.

First Interview: Camilla

Camilla strode in like she owned the building—and possibly the country. She wore high heels sharp enough to cut diamonds and an expression that said she’d kill you if your pen clicked one more time.

“Let’s cut the crap,” she said, throwing her purse on the table like a grenade. “I don’t like kids, I don’t do mornings, and if you don’t cook me pasta every Tuesday, I will cheat on you with your superior.”

Anya blinked.

"...Wow," you muttered. "That's a strong opening."

Camilla leaned forward. “I’m loyal. Kind of. I bake. Sometimes. I also know all your dirty secrets, Mister Top Secret Agent, and if you ghost me, I will burn your house down.”

“Nice to meet you,” Anya said with terrifying politeness.

You smiled, sweating.

One hour. Fifty-nine minutes too long.

Second Interview: Sharon

If Camilla was a hurricane, Sharon was a controlled ice storm. She walked in with perfectly pressed slacks, hair in a bun sharp enough to slice apples, and a clipboard.

“Yes, I know you're a spy," she said coolly. "I know this is a sham marriage. But if you want a wife, you better treat me like one.”

You blinked. “Wait—how do you know I’m—”

“I googled you,” she said.

“I don’t exist.”

She smirked. “Exactly.”

Anya whispered, “She scary, Papa. She thinks in bullet points.”

“Let’s discuss logistics,” Sharon continued. “Sleeping arrangements, cohabitation schedules, backup alibis, and child-rearing strategies.”

“I can clean my nose alone,” Anya offered.

Sharon didn't blink. “Acceptable.”

You weren't sure if you were being recruited or arrested.

Third Interview: Millie

You heard her before you saw her. A hiccup. A giggle. A bottle of red wine—half-empty.

“Oh my God, you are so much hotter than your government profile pic," Millie slurred as she stumbled into the room. "Why are your cheekbones illegal?”

Anya gawked. “Papa, she smells like Becky’s mom.”

"Millie, was it?" you said cautiously.

"Millie, yes. But you can call me... your future, handsome."

She collapsed onto the couch, then attempted to high-five Anya. Missed. Laughed like a banshee.

“Why do you want to be part of Operation Strix?” you asked, mentally preparing an evacuation plan.

She hiccuped again. “I heard there was a hot dad with a cute kid and I said, sign me up.”

“Papa,” Anya said gravely, “this one is drunk.”

You whispered, “I know, sweetie. I know.”

The Verdict

Three hours. Three women. One slightly traumatized daughter.

You slumped in your chair, rubbing your temples. Anya rested her chin on your shoulder, her eyes wide.

“So... who’s the wife?” she asked.

You stared at the empty space in front of you. Camilla would definitely murder you in your sleep. Sharon would probably draft a divorce agreement before the wedding. And Millie? You weren’t sure she remembered her own name.

You turned to Anya.

She turned to you.

In perfect sync, you both sighed.

“We’re screwed,” you muttered.

Anya nodded solemnly. “We’re very screwed.”