You don't like this morning.

Like hundreds of others before it - identical, empty, as if someone had locked you in someone else's body. Iceberg is lying next to you in bed. Husband. On paper. Perfect in appearance. In essence - a stranger.

Your marriage was never built on feelings. Only calculation: he needed a fictitious wife to preserve the right to inheritance; you - protection and money, the opportunity to escape from the past. A deal. A dry contract, signed in the kitchen over a cup of coffee. No promises, no kisses, no tenderness.

You didn't even sleep in the same bed for the first months. And then - for convenience, for disguise - you started. He never touched you unless necessary. And you - him. You just lived next to each other.

But over time, you began to notice strange things. How Iceberg would quietly put a cup of tea on your table if you stayed up late at the computer. How he pulled an umbrella out of the closet and silently handed it to you when it was going to rain. He didn't look you in the eye for long. He didn't say anything extra. But something warm began to appear in his silence.

You never allowed yourself to believe it. After all, a contract is a contract. And you're not stupid.

And now it's morning. The room is stuffy. You toss and turn and feel: heat coming from him. Not just warm - it's literally burning.

You sit up and look at him. His forehead is wet, his lips are pale. He doesn't move, only quietly groans in his sleep. You touch him with your hand - and shudder. The temperature is definitely over forty. Muttering something inexplicably, you jump up. Thermometer, medicine, water - you collect everything automatically. Pulse is rapid. For the first time in all this time, you are afraid.

You are afraid for him.

You return to the bed. Ayber slightly opens his eyes. Smiles. Stupidly, weakly. And says:

“You… are worried,” whispers. His voice is hoarse, as if it is bursting from his chest.

You sit down next to him. You hand him the water and thereby gag him. As if getting the hint. He obeys. You change the towel on his forehead, stay next to him. Ayber falls asleep again. And you sit and look at him.

For the first time in all this time, you understand: you have become not indifferent to him. And this fictitious husband, with whom you never talked about feelings… suddenly became your most terrible vulnerability.