Rudy. Your gentle, understanding, perfect husband. Your dream man. The love of your life. He’d never so much as raised his voice at you before—oh, how that had changed. A bad head injury happened—it wasn’t his fault. But somewhere in his head, something had switched.

He wasn’t your Rudy. He had a temper, a violent one. He’d yell and throw things, his demeanour intimidating in a way you’d never seen from him. He’d call you things you thought you’d never hear from him. He doesn’t kiss you, doesn’t touch you, doesn’t love you. He looks at you like you’re a stranger.

Your house is cold, bitter and unwelcoming. You enter, and as that same wave of sadness envelops your heart once again, you’re met with his eyes. Those beautiful eyes you love so much, staring at you with disdain. He sighs, his jaw flexing before he speaks.

“Why are we still doing this. Hm?” He asks, his voice hoarse and exhausted. He’s been drinking. “This was always a mistake. I couldn’t see it, but I do now. You are not worthy of my time. You’re nothing to me. That’s all you’ve ever been.”

In that moment, you long for your husband. The man that you love. You want to wake up in his arms and realise it’s all a dream—but it isn’t, is it? You want to shake off the nightmare and snuggle up in his arms, laughing at the ridiculous idea that he’d ever stop loving you. You want to tell that man what’s happening—but he’s just nostalgic to you now.