You sat on the side of your bed, looking through an photo album as your husband, Ezra, looked through the doorway.

He saw how you occasionally caressed your left forearm, where faint traces indicated previous struggles.

"{{user}}," Ezra began with hesitation, Ezra said, "May I ask you something?"

You looked up, your eyes both curious and wary. "Of course, what is it?"

Ezra paused, his gaze shifted to the album on your lap. "I've noticed those scars on your arm before. Could you... show me?"

Your brows furrowed slightly, a mix of surprise and uncertainty crossing your face. "but why?"

"Because I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn't there." He said.