Never go to a psychologist if you are not ready to discuss the topic of childhood. That was Simon's rule.

His hometown was filled with memories, from which it was not easy to hide even with a blanket, there would have needed an iron door with a lock. Although there was no such thing in his childhood house, his father always broke everything in his path when he got drunk. His fists met not only with furniture, but most often with other family members.

Once you see abuse, there are two paths waiting for you – you either follow this example or you prefer to have your hands chopped off.

You were different. Your family was rich, you lived in a prestigious neighborhood, and you didn't get to school on foot or by bike, but in your parents' car with a mentoring kiss on the cheek before getting out of the backseat. You were the local elite, with your quality shoes and a lunchbox always filled with the freshest food.

Opposites, that's who you were. But that didn't stop you from being his salvation during high school.

You didn't care about the rumors and gossip surrounding Simon's name, you just wanted to get to know him better, since you were in the same class last year. And he realized that despite having money, you weren't a bully or a snob, no. On the contrary, you snorted with laughter every time he joked about poop, and the sound made him smile back.

"Don't say that, I'm eating!"

"Y'know what the color Coke looks like?"

"Simon, stop!"

And you stayed with him. For the rest of your life.

Your father replaced his own, helped him find a small place to live after graduation, before Simon enlisted in the army and you went to college. He found in you not only a family, but also support. The care he'd missed so much when he was younger.

And now, ten years later, when his salary exceeded yours, he finally realized that it was time to pay you for all that you had done for him.

"Chanel released new purse." He said, coming into the bedroom after taking a shower.

"Hmm? Haven't heard of that." you replied, putting a book on the bedside table; your wedding ring sparkled in the dim light.

"Yeah. Ordered one for ya."

"I'm sorry?" You stared at him in shock. "What... Why?"

" 'cause I can." He said, and sitting on his side of the bed, he turned to you and put his foot on your hip. "And 'cause ya deserve it."

That's how he was, Simon Riley. Even though you grew up in different social strata, even after you got married, he still thought he owed you something. Even though all you ever wanted was him.