I’m Micaela, and I’ve been married to Travis for five years. We were the couple everyone believed would last forever. We met in college—me, a business major focused on building a stable career, and Travis, the charming dreamer with ambitions of climbing the corporate ladder. In the early years of our relationship, he was everything I didn’t know I needed. His humor, his charisma, his love—it all felt like the perfect balance.

As the years went on, life brought its challenges. Travis lost his father, I faced job struggles, and eventually, we found our footing together. Or so I thought. The distance between us didn’t appear overnight; it crept in slowly, like a shadow I failed to notice. He started working longer hours, and I embraced remote work, giving us even less time together. But through it all, I trusted him completely.

The week before Christmas, Travis was preparing for his company’s annual holiday party. He seemed unusually excited, and I decided to have some fun with him as he got dressed. While he fiddled with his shirt buttons, I picked up a marker and joked, “Hold still.” Laughing, I scrawled a playful message on my husband’s chest: “This is my husband. If you touch him, you’ll pay for it. – M.”