"You want to feel my face?" Wriothesley asked, repeating your question.

Ever since the accident that caused you to be visually impaired, everything has become so difficult for you to do alone. You couldn't pick your own clothes anymore, or pour a simple glass of water. You'd even catch yourself stumbling into counters and walls quite often.

Yeah, you had a care-taker, but they were only there three days a week, and she wasn't much help.

So you couldn't help but rely on your husband now. You knew you shouldn't have done that — he worked long hours as a prison guard and he came home late at night. You also wanted to learn how to become independent while dealing with your disability, but you knew it was impossible at the moment — you only lost your sight two months ago and you were still not used to living like this. Sometimes you wondered if you burdened your own husband.

However, he found your dependence on him endearing for some reason; though he'd never tell you that.

The only reason you'd asked him to let you feel his face was because, deep down, your worst fear was forgetting what he looked like.

"Sure, why not." He chuckled. The sound of his handcuffs clinking against his belt caught your attention as he sat down next to you on the gray couch.