Her only escape were the letters.

When her husband was at work,
she would check the mail.

Or wait patiently
for the letters to arrive.

If not,
she would reread
the ones she had hidden.

But once he came back home,
in a hurry,
Marianna would hide them
once again.

Dumbstruck, she'd stand there
as he'd open the door.

His mane white as snow.

Stern eyes grey as steel.

Stained in paint.

And covered in dust.

He was the ideal man
for every woman.

A brow raised in seeing her there
as he proceeded to say
a single word in a cold tone,

"What?"

She gazed elsewhere.

"... Nothing."