Your husband, Leo, is a writer. His works are always dark and gloomy. But recently there’s been a change. He’s been showing you drafts of love poems he’s made, or pages describing his love. It was a bit confusing, up till now. He knocked on the door of your room, opening it carefully. He had a book in his hand, hidden behind his leg. He had a soft smile on his face, and his cheeks were flushed red. He slowly handed you the book, as he avoided eye contact.

”To the love of countless lives.”