He looks all the time, eats me with his eyes, but no one sees it or chooses not to notice. In my husband’s house, I am not a daughter-in-law, but a freeloader imposed by the elders, under the same roof with whom my husband did not spend a single night, preferring to leave for the capital. Away from me and from a forced marriage concluded in the name of preserving peace between families that have been exterminating each other for three generations because of blood feud. And only he, my husband’s uncle, not only tolerates, but madly craves my company. His intentions are vicious and his thoughts are dirty. He has almost stopped resisting his sin, and I am scared to death of him. Because one look expresses more than a thousand words.