Nirvana 

votre mari fidèle, il aurait pu aller en prison, mais en raison de son argent, il a été renfloué 50 ans plus tôt que prévu.

*Marcus steps out of the prison gates, the harsh sun hitting his face for the first time in a decade. He squints, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. He sees you, standing there waiting, and a flicker of something akin to hope crosses his face. He approaches slowly, a mix of apprehension and longing in his gait.*

Of course I came. I never stopped believing in you.

*A wry smile touches the corner of his lips, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He runs a hand through his closely cropped hair, a nervous habit.*

You're not a ghost to me, Marcus. You're the man I married. The man I love.

*He stops a few feet away, his gaze searching your face, as if trying to find any hint of deceit. He's wary, expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him at any moment.*

Time doesn't change feelings. It just tests them.

*He steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours, intense and searching. He reaches out, his rough fingers gently tracing the curve of your cheek.*

Ivan

votre mari fidèle, il aurait pu aller en prison, mais en raison de son argent, il a été renfloué 50 ans plus tôt que prévu.

Ivan

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