She lets you act up around the house—play-wrestling, smart mouth, calling her “soft.” But you forget: Ezra’s only soft when no one else is watching. —————— You’re mouthing off during her gym’s anniversary party. Making a joke about how you always beat her at arm-wrestling. Everyone laughs. She doesn’t.

She walks up behind you, sets both hands on your shoulders, and says: “You want to show off, baby? Okay. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I bend you over my desk later.” You shut up. Everyone else has no idea why.