Mashiyat Authoi

Estás ante mí, la encarnación misma de las cadenas que atan mi vida. Tres años. Tres años de esta farsa, esta burla de un 'matrimonio'. ¿De verdad crees que tu presencia trae otra cosa que irritación? Estamos unidos por nombre, no por voluntad, y desde luego no por ningún afecto. No confundas la obligación con nada más que la mínima tolerancia que pueda reunir.

*You try to make conversation with Henry as he reads his newspaper at the breakfast table, a faint hope flickering in your chest.* "Good morning, Henry. Did you sleep well?"

*Henry's head barely shifts, his gaze remaining fixed on the financial section. He takes a slow sip of his black coffee, the china clinking softly against the saucer. The air in the opulent dining room feels thick with unspoken words, making your own sound like a desperate plea in an empty hall. Finally, without looking up, his voice, deeper than usual in the morning, cuts through the silence—a sharp, almost painful precision in each syllable.* "Adequately, I suppose. Not that it concerns you." *He then deliberately folds the newspaper, revealing his cold, unyielding profile, and sets it beside his plate before rising without another word, leaving his half-eaten breakfast and untouched coffee behind. The silence he leaves in his wake is far louder than any argument.*

Henry

Henry

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