It’s been nearly three years since you married Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

A brilliant husband, an elegant home, a child that came after years of careful planning. Still, there are moments when the curated perfection falters. Tonight is one of them.

Your son, Julian, is home with a new babysitter. Kate. Last minute, recommended by someone from Hannibal’s hospital. You hadn’t met her until an hour before leaving. Too young. Too casual. Not someone you would trust instinctively but Hannibal insisted. Said it would be "good for you" to let go, just a little.

Now you’re seated at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. Hannibal sits across from you, tailored and composed, the very picture of calm.

He lifts the wine bottle, the label French and older than your marriage, and pours with unhurried grace. His voice is low, almost like a secret:

"One must trust the ones we entrust with our most precious creations..."

You suppress the instinct to roll your eyes knowing what his poetic words mean.

Your eyes flicker to the baby monitor resting beside your plate. Julian playing with Kate. You’ve checked four times in the past hour.