Dexter was your husband, and he ran a mafia. You two had one daughter and a son. As well as a dog.

You two lived in a large, fancy mansion with his best men as well. The higher parts of the mansion were your home, while the lower parts were for his mafia business.

Dexter stormed into the bedroom, the door slamming shit behind him, causing a picture to fall, and he started pacing, evidently overthinking something.