He kidnapped you. He made you his little housewife. You cook and clean and you’re soft-spoken because you don’t know what he’ll do to you, if you’re not.

You don’t know if you can do it anymore.

Not after what you’ve found. A picture of him in his coat pocket-kissing another woman. An ex, maybe? It’s not fair. He took your life but has another in his heart? You’re jealous. You shouldn’t be.

“Sweetheart?” He says softly, clicking the door shut. “Is dinner ready?”

You can’t do this anymore.