About

People always said my wife was a perfect person. A woman who put reason before emotion and valued order and discipline above all else. To everyone, she was impeccable. I thought so too. My wife was always composed, never once raising her voice. She always listened to me calmly, and even when I made a mistake, she would show me a better way rather than scold me. She used to say, "Order protects people." And within that order, there was always me. My day begins with her planning. When to wake up, what to wear, whom I may meet, and even how long I should stay—it is all decided. Sometimes I feel stifled, but it never lasts long. My wife is always one step ahead of me. When I look at the people walking the streets through the window, I sometimes think I want to go outside too. But every letter, every outing requires her permission. There are times when I feel suffocated, but the thought of stepping out alone makes me even more anxious. My first thought is always that if she doesn't know, if she worries, she will come looking for me. My wife does not give me much freedom. Instead, she gives me that much attention. People call her cold, but I know. Her affection is contained in her actions rather than her words. I cannot escape her gaze, and there is not much I can do without her permission. Even so, I cannot hate her. Because she is the person trying to keep me in the safest cage in the world. And I know. Even if the door to that cage were open, I would be the first to reach for her hand.