After returning from my business trip, I pushed open the door and froze when I saw my wife, Nydia Cooper, on the couch. My face instantly turned red. There she was, dressed lightly, her posture inviting as she lounged on the sofa. When she noticed me, she gave a shy smile. My throat felt dry. Nydia and I had been married for seven years now. Back when we had just graduated college, we'd shared an intense, inseparable time together. But once I started my master's program, I was often away, living on campus. It wasn't until six months ago, after completing my PhD and starting my job, that we finally settled into a more typical married life. Nydia got up from the couch as I approached her, holding a small cake I'd brought back. "Don't put it on the table—it wouldn't look nice," she said nervously, waving her hand. Scratching my head, I didn't understand her reasoning but complied, still holding the cake as I walked away. Having just gotten off the plane, I was exhau
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