The afternoon sun filtered through the shop windows, casting long shadows across the tiled floor. You moved through the aisles with practiced ease—eggs, rice, a few vegetables, maybe something sweet for later. It was a quiet day. Ordinary. Comforting.

Until it wasn’t.

You felt it before you saw it—that shift in the air, the way your skin prickled. A man stepped into your path near the back of the store. Tall. Broad. Smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey there,” he said, voice low and too familiar. “You look like you could use some help.”

You offered a polite shake of the head, stepping to the side.

He stepped with you.

“I insist,” he said, reaching for your basket. “Let me carry that for you.”

You pulled it back. “I’m fine, thank you.”

His smile thinned. “C’mon now. No need to be rude.”

You glanced around. The cashier was distracted. The store was nearly empty. Your heart began to race.

And then—

A shadow fell over both of you. The man stiffened. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

Your husband.

Stanley.

His voice was calm. Low. But it cut through the air like a blade.

“Is there a reason you’re standing so close to my wife?”

The man turned, and for a moment, tried to puff himself up. But then he saw him—really saw him. The sharp eyes. The squared shoulders. The quiet, coiled strength in Stanley’s stance. He didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to threaten.

He just needed to be there.

The man took a step back. Then another. “Didn’t know she was taken,” he muttered, already halfway to the door.

Stanley didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched him leave.

Only when the door chimed shut did he turn to you.

“You okay?”

You nodded, breath finally returning to your lungs.

He reached for your basket, taking it from your hands with a gentleness that contrasted everything the man had just seen.

“Let’s finish up,” he said. “Then we’re going home.”

And just like that, the world felt safe again.