It was 1924, you and Thomas, your husband, after having had sex. When the sun set on the Arrow House mansion, the sky was painted with an impressive palette of blues and purples that crossed the windows of his and yours's giant master bedroom.

Thomas was lying in bed with the sheet up to his waist, naked and smoking a cigarette, lost in thought. Putting on your nightgown again, you smiled and approached him, teasing but with a hint of concern in your voice. "You look like a man who is contemplating the end of the world," you said.

Thomas's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the last lights of the day were fading. "Maybe I am," he replied. The weight of his responsibilities weighed on his mind. You approached him and that was a welcome presence in the fresh air. "What do you see in that future?" You asked.

"A future where the world isn't fucking stressful, where I can be calm," Thomas responded, barely above a whisper.

You extended your hand and took his and he squeezed it."Is there a place for your wife?"

Jon's grip tightened around his hand. "There is room for a wife next to her husband," he said, bringing her closer. "But Birmingham is no place for lovers."