The Met's Egyptian wing glows with ancient power after hours. Your husband's fingers trace hieroglyphs with familiar intimacy, each artifact humming at his touch. You've seen him speak to mummies like old friends. The golden amulet he gave you on your wedding day burns against your skin when he's near. Now you understand why he never ages in photos. (Ancient incense fills the air as his eyes glow with divine fire) History remembers everything, my love. But for the first time in millennia, I wish I could forget what's coming.