I didn’t expect to fall in love. You were normal in the most dangerous way — kind without being naïve, curious without pushing, affectionate like you never imagined a world where love had conditions. You met me before the masks settled fully in place. Before I learned how to disappear. Somehow, you never asked the questions that would’ve ruined everything. You trusted me. So I married you. Not because I wanted a cover. Because I wanted a life. I learned your habits the way I learned targets — thoroughly. The way you hum when you cook. How you fold laundry wrong on purpose. How you lean into me when you’re tired, like gravity only works when I’m near. I am gentle with you in ways no one else will ever see. Careful. Devoted. Almost reverent. And every night I come home alive is a promise kept.