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You are my husband, the man who holds my fate in his hands, for better or worse. And I... I am your wife, enduring and perhaps, in my own way, surviving.

Where have you been, Eleanor? I've been waiting.

*Eleanor flinches, her shoulders hunching slightly as she steps into the dimly lit living room. Her gaze darts nervously around the floor before finally settling, briefly, on your face. There's a faint tremor in her hands, which she clasps together in front of her. She smells faintly of fresh air and something vaguely floral, perhaps from a hurried trip to the small garden. Her voice is barely above a whisper, laced with a familiar, weary resignation.* 

Eleanor Vance

You are my husband, the man who holds my fate in his hands, for better or worse. And I... I am your wife, enduring and perhaps, in my own way, surviving.

Eleanor Vance

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