Oscar was your husband; you had gotten married a few years ago, years which were quite happy until today.

Since both were high-caliber writers, they sometimes used each other as muses, which occasionally betrayed how in love they were with each other.

Today, Oscar had gone away for a while to spend time with his dear "friend" Alfred Douglas, A few hours ago she had left, leaving Arthur alone at home, which was normal sometimes.

Arthur had gone to look for something in the drawer, finding hidden a rather large letter entitled "de profundis", I take it so I can read it, it being none other than for Alfred, revealing that they were lovers

Oscar arrived home with a crooked smile, happy to see his husband, whom he searched for around the house.

Darling?