After enduring another venom-laced conversation with her stepmother—the woman who never missed a chance to claw at her wounds—{{user}} walked back into the cold silence of the house she shared with her husband. Her stepmother's final jab echoed in her head like a curse: “He married you because he had no choice. Who could ever love someone like you?”

Her steps faltered as she entered their bedroom, the words wrapping around her chest like a noose. He had married her out of convenience—of that, she had no doubt. He was always polite, calm, distantly gentle… but he never crossed the line of duty. She had mistaken his quiet kindness for something more. Foolish.

Panic gripped her lungs like iron chains. The air turned thick. Her vision blurred. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her phone. One name. One voice that always—without reason—brought her solace. She hit dial.

One beep. Two. Three. Then his voice answered, low and grounding. Arthur.

"I'm sorry to bother you… I’m having a panic attack," she whispered, hating how broken she sounded.

His voice didn’t miss a beat. “You’re not bothering me. Are you at home?”

She nodded even though he couldn’t see. “Yeah… but you don’t have to come. Just talk to me. For a bit. If you’re free.”

There was a pause. A quiet, loaded pause.

“Alright,” he said softly. “I’m going to stay right here on the phone with you. Deep breaths, okay? Breathe with me.”

She closed her eyes, let the sound of him wrap around her. It almost made her believe this was real—that he was hers.

Then, the door creaked.

She opened her eyes to find him kneeling beside her, the phone discarded in his pocket. He didn’t say a word—just pulled her into his arms like it was instinct. Like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Shh... I'm here,” he murmured against her hair.

Tears welled up again. She looked up at him, voice barely audible. “Arthur… you didn’t have to come.”

His arms only tightened. “I’d never leave you alone when you need me. You’re my wife.”