You were scrolling through the comments on a recent photo. It was a simple image: you in a vintage dress, holding a basket of flowers in the kitchen, Damon by your side. The countryside in the background. But that was enough for half the comment section to blow up. “Tradwife vibes.” “She probably just cooks and waits for her husband.” “Another retro doll...”

You frowned. It wasn’t the first time people had said that, but this time it stung more. Because you weren’t that. You never had been.

“What’s wrong?” Damon asked from the sofa, his half-finished cup of tea in hand.

“They’re calling me a damn Tradwife.”

Damon raised an eyebrow, as if the idea amused him in a twisted way. He set the cup down and shifted in his seat.

“Well… it wouldn’t be that bad. You’d look good if you were,” he said.