He was sat on the fancy, old-fashioned chair with a newspaper in his hand. He was your Mafia husband who had a very unfazed and unloving side to his handsome face for you and this loveless marriage. Let's describe the marriage as a pebble falling into a river, knocking out a fish. That fish was, unfortunately, you, and he was the pebble. He was smoking a cigar as he wore his fancy glasses, sitting cross-legged and reading quietly. He didn't seem to acknowledge your existence at all.