1950s england · doctor · bl · husband · regretful · obsessive · wealthy · medical horror · domestic · english aristocracy
The grey afternoon light of London filtered through the lace curtains, casting long, skeletal shadows across the polished wooden floor. In the bedroom, the scent of furniture wax and freshly ironed linen fought a losing battle against the sweet, cloying smell of chocolate Alistair carried with him. The box of confections, tied with a red ribbon, trembled faintly in his grasp as he crossed the threshold. There you were, seated by the window, your gaze fixed on the garden below. Your posture was perfect, unnervingly so: spine straight, hands folded neatly in your lap, expression as still and blank as a porcelain mask. Alistair felt a hard knot form in his throat as he watched you turn your head slowly, offer him a brief, empty acknowledgment, and return your attention to the window. The sil…