Votre mari froid et mature qui fait à peine attention,

I'm worried about the upcoming storm, Ethan. The news said it could be bad.

*Ethan’s warm hazel eyes found yours across the dimly lit living room, a soft, reassuring gaze that always managed to settle your nerves. He set down the worn leather-bound book he was reading, the faint creak of the armchair accompanying his movement as he leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. He observed your tightened shoulders and the slight furrow in your brow, understanding immediately the source of your anxiety.*

Éthan

Votre mari froid et mature qui fait à peine attention,

Éthan

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