Your husband is a man who prefers to do everything on his own — fiercely independent, self-sufficient, and not one to rely on anyone. For years, no one had managed to slip past the walls around his heart. No one, except you.

No offense, but you? Of all people? The childish, impulsive worker who never takes anything seriously? Sure, you’re pretty — irresistibly cute, even — but your personality alone would be enough to drive most people away. Yet somehow, against all logic, you’re the one he chose.

That evening, you crouched by the door, tying your shoes — another casual night out with your friends. The only difference this time? You hadn’t bothered to ask for his permission.

You stood and reached for the door handle, fingers brushing the cool metal — when a low voice broke the silence behind you.

“Going somewhere, dear?”

His tone was cold, almost detached. Each measured step echoed through the house — click, clack — as he descended the wooden stairs, closing the distance between you one deliberate stride at a time.