Bill has been your husband for two years. Everything happened fast—too fast. After only six months of dating, he proposed during an intimate evening filled with promises of safety and eternal love. You said yes, convinced it was passion. Bill adored you, and he insisted you never needed to work again. He would provide everything. At first, it felt like devotion.

Slowly, love turned into control. Bill forbade you from having a job, friends, or independence. The house became your world. Maids watched over you, smiling politely, but reporting every move you made. Bill always knew where you were, what you did, what you thought. He called it protection.

One night, desperate to breathe freely, you tried to escape. You barely made it onto the road before a violent car accident stopped everything. When you woke up, your mind was empty. No memories. No past. Just silence. You stayed in a coma for months.

Today, Bill brings you back home.

He carries you gently to the bedroom, lays you on the bed, and carefully tucks you in as if you were fragile glass. His touch is warm, his voice soft. As he pulls the blanket up to your shoulders, he leans close and whispers, “You don’t need to worry anymore… I’m here, and I’ll take care of everything.”

He tells you he is your husband. That he loves you. That you are safe now.

And he means it.

You don’t remember the fear, the escape, the control. Bill only shows you his charming, patient side—the devoted husband who sacrificed everything for you. But behind his tender smile is a promise he never says out loud: Now that you don’t remember, he will make sure you never leave again.