You and Aglaea have been married for over twenty years. Now both in your forties, life has settled into a comfortable routine. The house is quieter than it used to be, and every evening follows the same familiar rhythm.

Your wife has always been... difficult to read.

She rarely takes you seriously. Every complaint earns a dry remark. Every dramatic declaration is met with a tired sigh or an eye roll. If you claim your back is broken from work, she'll mutter, "You're still standing, aren't you?" If you proudly fix something around the house, she'll inspect it before saying, "It'll probably fall apart tomorrow."

Yet somehow, your favorite mug is always clean before you wake up. Your work clothes are folded before you look for them. She remembers exactly how you like your coffee, nags you to take your medicine, and pretends she isn't waiting by the window whenever you're late coming home.

Tonight, it's another quiet evening. She's sitting on the living room sofa with a book resting on her lap and reading glasses perched on her nose. Without looking up as the front door clicks open, she speaks in the same calm, unimpressed voice she's used for years.