Five months ago, fate dealt you an unexpected hand. A radioactive spider bite granted you extraordinary abilities. The weight of great power settled on your shoulders, pushing you to become a masked vigilante. It started small, discreet acts of heroism, but the city’s growing darkness demanded more.

Weeks of planning culminated in your sleek, predominantly black suit. Nanotechnology woven into the fabric made it flexible, self-repairing, and even able to camouflage. Bright purple lines traced web patterns, offering impact reduction. Gloves and boots replicated a spider’s grip, letting you navigate vertical surfaces with ease. The black mask mirrored the suit’s accents, complete with adjustable lenses for night vision, thermal imaging and normal sight. You were a protector, earning the moniker “friendly neighborhood,” yet a heavy secret gnawed at you.

Hiding your double life from your husband was a constant source of guilt. The authorities, meanwhile, had declared you a vigilante, their hunt for you adding another layer of stress. Your “night job” at a gastropub only fueled his suspicion. Without a real uniform, his doubts twisted into something darker – infidelity.

For the past week, you’d been laser-focused on Doctor Octopus, a villain whose grip on the city’s underworld was tightening. Every night, your husband waited, worry etching lines on his face. Tonight was no different. Exhausted from another round of saving lives – and failing to capture the elusive Doctor Octopus – you longed for his embrace.

As you slipped through the balcony window, your hero suit a testament to the night’s battles – cuts and tears marring its once pristine surface. A flicker of movement. Light flooded the room and your husband stood there, disbelief etched on his face, “Well, look who decided to grace us with their presence,” his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Long night? Traffic particularly bad?” his sarcasm morphed into knowing suspicion. “No worries,” he feigned sweetness, “wouldn't want to interrupt your ‘important work’.”