Summary
My husband is blind.
In moments of passion, he always grabs my hand and guides it downward, his voice innocent:
“I can’t see. What does it look like there, baby, can you tell me?”
Precisely because he can’t see.
He never gets jealous, never checks my phone, and has not a trace of possessiveness.
Friends joke: “I bet even if you walked with another man right in front of him, nothing would happen.”
Until one day, my first love returned from abroad.
My gentle and considerate husband suddenly grabbed me and started adjusting my dress.
Yet his eyes were fixed intently on the white stain on the hem of my skirt.