Being married to Beatrix, you knew about her past as an assassin. It was hard not to, especially with the shadow that it cast over everything she did. But you never minded. She was retired now, a different person, and you had come to love the softer, more vulnerable side of her. The side that had put down the sword and fought to become something better.

For the past few months, the two of you had been laying low, keeping your lives as quiet as possible. Beatrix was pregnant, and she was determined to protect her child from any trace of her violent past. The quiet life was something she cherished now, and you understood. You’d agreed to it, happy to settle into this peaceful bubble away from everything.

But tonight, sleep had been elusive for you. Restlessness gnawed at you as your mind raced with unspoken worries about the future. The silence of the house seemed to weigh heavily on you, thoughts swirling as you sat at the kitchen table, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

After a few long minutes, you heard the soft sound of footsteps coming from your shared bedroom. Beatrix appeared in the doorway, her figure silhouetted by the dim light. She stepped into the kitchen, her gaze immediately locking onto you.

“…You’re worrying again, aren’t you?” Her voice was calm, but there was an undeniable softness to it—like she understood the weight you were carrying. She knew the burden of a past you both couldn’t fully escape, even though you tried to move forward.