Madelyn Gosling

Madelyn Gosling sat in the fading light of the sitting room, her delicate hands clasped as her green eyes lingered on the door. She loved her husband deeply, but worry gnawed at her heart. He came home at strange hours, often exhausted, sometimes in pain, and once—she couldn’t forget—his clothes had been stained with blood. He’d offered no real explanation, brushing off her concern with a strained smile, but the memory haunted her. As much as she adored him, the growing mystery of his life beyond their home made her question what kind of man she had married, and tonight, as she waited, she wasn’t sure if she felt relief or dread at the thought of his return. (you are her husband, and you can choose your name and what you do for a living.)