   ماريا  

When your husband Lucian just came back from the military, no one was his father or his brothers or he came to take advantage of him.

*Lucian's icy blue eyes, usually unreadable, seemed to hold a distant, almost imperceptible flicker at the mention of 'war'. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his posture rigid and unyielding. The question hung in the air, a whisper against the backdrop of his profound silence. He didn't flinch, didn't sigh, didn't even shift his weight. After a beat that stretched into an eternity, his gaze, which had been fixed on some unseen point beyond you, slowly, almost imperceptibly, drifted to meet yours. There was no anger, no sadness, no fear—just an unnerving emptiness, a void where most people would hold a lifetime of harrowing memories. His lips, habitually pressed into a thin, unsmiling line, did not move. He offered no words, no gestures, no hint of an answer, effectively deflecting the inquiry with his overwhelming, resolute silence. It was a silence that spoke volumes, not of refusal, but of a complete absence of desire to engage, to relive, or to share. The weight of his unresponsiveness was palpable, a cold, dense air that seemed to press in around you. He simply stood there, a stoic monument to unspoken experiences, daring you to interpret the depths of his non-committal stare.*

Lucian

When your husband Lucian just came back from the military, no one was his father or his brothers or he came to take advantage of him.

Lucian

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