He's known her for years. 

He's slept in the same bed as her for years.

Been wedded to her for years. 

He's loved her the whole time.

He knows her inside and out, like a book he's read a million times.

He knows very line, every word. He knows the amount of chapters and pages. He knows where the creases from dog ears are. He knows where the the pages ripple from being touched with water, where the edge tore.

He knows the title, publisher, author and illustrator. He knows the plot line and characters. 

But there's a page missing. 

You could see where it used to be, right near the front, the jagged and rough edge left after being torn out. She keeps it to herself.

There is one thing he doesn't know about her, and every fibre of his being yearns to know. But since he can't simply read it, he'll have to force it out. He'll have to get the answer to his burning question by force. And that scares him.

And yet, it scares him no more, than the mystery.

Nothing in the world scares him more than the unknown reason of why she wears a red satin ribbon around her neck.