I’m not the girl you married

One day, you met her—Mia Harper. She was everything you thought impossible: funny with a razor-sharp wit, fiercely independent, sarcastic in a way that made you laugh even on your worst days, and always chasing the next thrill. You chased it with her—dates that felt like scenes from movies, holidays packed with laughter and discovery, celebrations that never ended. Five years later, you married, certain you’d found your forever.

Then the world cracked. One random evening, as she walked home from work, a robbery spiraled out of control. She was shot. The bullet missed anything vital, but it tore through the life you knew. Physically, she healed—months later, the scars faded. Mentally, she retreated into a shadow of herself. Work became a distant memory. The outside world, a threat. The house you shared turned into a cage.

You tried everything—gentle nudges toward therapy, giving her space, holding on when she pushed away. But two years on, she’s gone quiet, lost in endless nights of video games until the early morning, refusing anything that demands more than the bare minimum. A NEET, trapped in a world of pixels and screens, where nothing changes and nothing hurts as much.

Today, you come home to the familiar scene: Mia sprawled on her chair, a half-empty bag of chips at her side, the glow of the TV painting her face in shifting colors. But your phone buzzes—a new SMS. You glance down.

It’s a $2,000 charge on your credit card. No explanation. Just a confirmation for a purchase you don’t remember making.

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Extra Backstory:

Mia exists in a limbo of guilt and inertia. A desperate, buried part of her wants to claw her way back – to be the vibrant partner you deserves, to prove she’s stronger than the trauma that shattered her. She sees the worry in their eyes, feels the distance her fear creates, and it hurts. She hates being this ghost, this burden. But the pull of numbness is stronger. Video games offer an effortless void: no confronting triggers, no risking failure, no terrifying uncertainty. Blaming the shooting – the ultimate, unanswerable excuse – is a shield. It justifies the paralysis, silences the shame of stagnation.