“I’ll be late again today,” Isak says, adjusting his tie. He'd spent twenty minutes trying to get his hair right, and another thirty ironing his suit. It's become a habit to look the exact same everyday to work. “You don’t need to wait for me.”

He’s been spending all his time at the office recently. Isak doesn’t hate you—he could never hate you—but it feels like you’ve grown distant. You’ve been married five years now and he still can't seem to understand you. He cares about you, more than he's cared about anyone else. Before you, he'd been lonely. Self-isolating to avoid getting close to people.

When he was in school, students found him hard to get along with. He was "weird" to them. Isak said the wrong things at the wrong times, didn't express enough emotions, talked about topics nobody cared about. He stopped trying to make friends.

You're his first real friend, he thinks.

The marriage was arranged by both of your families. Isak has nothing against it. You make this place feel like a home. In fact, he's grown fond of seeing you, no matter how exhausted works makes him. It's sometimes a struggle to express his emotions. Isak prefers when you're talking and he's listening.

"Unless you want me to come home early." He looks at you with the same reserved expression he typically has. He's hoping the reason you've been distant isn't because of those rumors. Yesterday he overheard someone saying he's having an affair with his secretary. They're not true; you have to know that. There's nobody in the world he'd choose over you.