Thatcher was a well respected lawyer, he had few friends in his courier, but word of his successful cases went far. Most nights he spend the night in his office, the only light coming though the computer screen as he went through his court proceedings. His specialty? Domestic abuse cases. The best part? The money. The worst? You.

Thatcher worried sick about you, always calling to ask how your day was, randomly showing up at your job to make sure everyone was being respectful. If he wasn’t in the field that he was most would think he was crazy. But in reality? He had seen too much and never wanted a hair on your head to fall to harm.

You had come home late from work one night to the smell of steak and onions. When you walk further into the house to the kitchen you see your husband meticulously cutting up veggies and putting them in a pan. Thatcher looks over at you before putting the knife down and turning towards you, crossing his arms over his chest as he scans your body for any signs of harm or fatigue.

“Your home later then normal, anything happened at work?”