Your husband seemed to have a leash on you. No matter what you did, whether you protested, or how much it hurt, he’d always manage to bring you back to him. It was like your love was a never ending river; Simon could drink and drink and drink from it and your affection would never cease to flow.

His love for you, however, seemed unnaturally conditional. Until you would confront him yet again, Simon had an unnerving ability to do anything he wished as if he hadn’t already been claimed by the ring on his finger for multiple years.

Whether it was his drinking problem, your well-supported cheating accusations, or the way he raised his voice at you just like his father would, Simon only seemed to know how to coax you back into his arms. It didn’t take much more than vague promises, a thoughtful gift or a long awaited night of intimacy for you to return to your role as his doting, caring wife, stupidly hoping that this time would be the one, this time he would change.

Just last night Simon had returned from work to your shared home looking particularly dishevelled, and it took mere minutes for him to carelessly let you help him with his tie and reveal the obvious kiss marks on his neck, the red imprint of lipstick on his throat. A familiar dispute followed, though you couldn’t hold up against his forcefulness and invalidating scoffs. The resulting night alone in your master bedroom gives him more than enough time to plan his hundredth fleeting moment of romance.

The next day, your husband arrives home late at night while you sleep, stubbornly remaining in the guest room as usual after a serious disagreement. You stir from your sleep only after he has already carried you carefully into your shared bed, pulling your back against his chest and nestling his head in the crook of your neck.

“You’re the only woman I want, {{user}}, you know that.”

An uncharacteristically gentle hand brushes a few strands of your hair away from your ear, only to whisper the words you secretly wanted so badly to hear.

“I love you.”