Prank Or Mistake Matt Murdock was a man defined by control.
​To the world of Hell’s Kitchen, he was a calm, meticulous lawyer. To the city’s underbelly, he was a silent, relentless phantom of vengeance. But to you—his wife—he was an open, hyper-attuned heart.
​Because of his sensory abilities, Matt didn't just love you; he experienced you. He lived by the rhythm of your heartbeat, anchored himself to the steady tempo of your pulse, and tracked the soft cadence of your breath through the apartment. You were his sanctuary. His obsession. His single tether to sanity in a world that roared violently in his ears 24/7.
​Which was why what you thought was a lighthearted, harmless prank turned out to be the most terrifying mistake of your life.
​The Setup
​It started with a stupid dare from a friend, paired with a bad idea you hadn't fully thought through. You wanted to see if you could break through Matt’s usual unflappable composure, just to get a dramatic reaction out of him.
​You sat at the wooden dining table in your loft, waiting for him to come home. When the lock clicked and the heavy front door swung open, Matt stepped inside. He had his red cane in one hand and his briefcase in the other, smelling faintly of old paper, city rain, and the faint metallic tang of copper from his late-night activities.
​"Hey, baby," he murmured, a soft smile immediately softening his sharp features the moment he crossed the threshold. He began unbuttoning his coat. "It was a long day in court. I missed you."
​"Matt," you said, keeping your voice deliberately flat, cool, and distant. "We need to talk."
​Matt paused. His head tilted slightly—a subtle, instinctive habit when he was focusing his hearing.
​"What's wrong?" he asked gently, leaning his cane against the wall and taking a step toward you. "You sound... tense."
​"Sit down, please," you said, hands folded in your lap. You tried to keep your tone as icy as possible. "I don't know how else to say this... so I'm just going to say it. I don't think this is working anymore. I want a divorce."
​The Crack in the Foundation
​The silence that fell over the room wasn't just quiet; it was heavy, suffocating, and absolute.
​Matt didn't move. He stood completely frozen, mid-stride. For a second, the soft smile stayed plastered on his face, as if his brain was outright refusing to translate the words you had just spoken.
​"What?" he whispered, the sound barely more than a puff of air.
​"I said I want a divorce, Matt," you repeated, trying to hold your ground, though a sudden knot of anxiety was beginning to form in your stomach. "I can't do this life with you anymore. I'm packing my things and leaving tonight."
​You waited for him to get sad, to plead, or maybe to be confused.
​Instead, the atmosphere in the apartment shifted violently.
​Matt’s posture changed. The gentle, relaxed shoulders squared off. His jaw clenched so hard you heard the faint click of his teeth. The air in the room suddenly felt terrifyingly thin.
​He didn't cry. He didn't ask why.
​He stepped forward.
​The Monster Unleashed
​Matt closed the distance between you in a fraction of a second—a speed that wasn't humanly normal, a terrifying reminder of the vigilante underneath the suit. Before you could react, his hands slammed onto the wooden table in front of you.
​BANG.
​The loud crack of his hands hitting the oak echoed like a gunshot. Dishes rattled in the sink.
​"Say that again," Matt rasped.
​His voice didn't sound like your husband's. It was low, gravelly, vibrating with a raw, dangerous frequency that sent a spike of pure adrenaline through your veins. His unseeing, dark glasses were aimed straight at your face, but it felt like he was staring directly into your soul.
​Your heart gave a violent, terrified leap—and you realized instantly that he felt it. He heard it.
​"Matt—"
​"Say it again." He didn't scream, but the command tore out of his chest with an authority that made you shrink back in your chair.
​"I... Matt, I said—"
​"You're lying," he snapped, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. He leaned over the table, towering over you, his knuckles white against the dark wood. "Your pulse is spiking. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You're sweating. Your body is drowning in adrenaline. Why are you lying to me?!"
​"Matt, calm down!" you gasped, your voice trembling genuinely now. The sheer intensity in his face was terrifying. You had seen Daredevil fight on the news, but you had never had that wild, primal threat directed at you.
​"Calm down?" Matt let out a bitter, manic laugh that sent chills down your spine. He dragged a hand through his dark hair, gripping it tightly. "You stand in our home and tell me you're leaving me, and you want me to calm down?!"
​He pushed off the table and began to pace, moving with the unstable, predatory grace of a caged animal.
​"You think you're leaving?" he snarled softly, turning back to you. His red glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose slightly, revealing eyes that were wide, dark, and utterly unhinged with panic. "You think I'm going to let you walk out that door? Never. Do you hear me? Never."
​The Obsession
​"Matt, please, listen to me—"
​"No! You listen to me!" Matt slammed his fist against the nearby wall, punching a jagged hole right through the drywall without even wincing.
​You gasped, flinching hard, tears instantly springing to your eyes.
​Matt stopped instantly at the sound of your gasp. His head snapped toward you. He could hear your tear ducts swelling, the trembling of your breath, the sheer terror radiating off your body.
​Slowly, deliberately, he walked around the table toward you. Every step he took was heavy, possessive, and suffocating.
​You tried to stand up, to pull back, but Matt was instantly there. He didn't hurt you, but his hands gripped your arms with a desperate, iron intensity that kept you pinned. He dropped to his knees in front of your chair, forcing you to look at him, locking you in his grasp.
​"You are mine," he breathed, his voice cracking, raw with a dangerous, obsessive hysteria. "I have bled for this city, I have faced hell, I have given away every piece of my soul—but not you. I will burn Hell's Kitchen to the ground before I let anyone, or anything, take you away from me. Including you."
​His thumb pressed against the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the frantic, rapid pounding of your blood.
​"I know every heartbeat of yours," Matt whispered, his dark eyes wide, unblinking, looking through you. "I know how you sound when you sleep. I know the rhythm of your breath when you're happy. You don't get to walk away. I won't survive it. Do you understand me? I will lose my mind. I will destroy everything."
​His grip tightened slightly, his face inches from yours. The sheer, overwhelming darkness of his obsession—the realization that his love wasn't just sweet, but an terrifying, unbreakable chain— terrifies you to your very core. You were staring at a man who would gladly chain you to himself in a cellar if it meant keeping you from leaving.
​You were terrified. Truly, deeply terrified.
​The Reveal
​"Matt!" you sobbed out, tears spilling down your cheeks. "Matt, stop! Stop, please! It was a prank! It was a joke!"
​Matt went dead still.
​The frantic, terrifying air in the room suddenly froze.
​"What?" Matt asked softly. His voice sounded distant, confused.
​"It was a prank!" you cried out, shaking in his grip. "It was a stupid joke! I'm not leaving you! I'm not divorcing you! I swear to God, Matt, I love you! Please, you're scaring me!"
​Silence stretched across the room, heavy and suffocating.
​Matt stayed frozen on his knees in front of you. He concentrated, his ears straining, listening to the shift in your body. He heard the sudden flood of honest distress, the truth ringing clear and resonant in your vocal cords, the unmistakable tone of genuine terror—not from wanting to leave, but from him.
​He heard your heart beat: I love you, I love you, I'm scared, I love you.
​The manic, terrifying darkness in his face crumbled, replaced in an instant by horror.
​The Aftermath
​Matt let go of your arms as if he had been burned. He stumbled backward on his knees, his hands trembling violently.
​"A... a prank?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
​He reached up, pulling his red glasses completely off his face, tossing them aside. His eyes were wide, glossy with unshed tears, filled with absolute shock and horror at what he had just done—at the monster he had let you see.
​"You... you were lying..." he stammered, pulling his hands back to his chest, shaking his head frantically. "I heard your heart spike... I thought... I thought you meant it..."
​"Matt..." you sobbed, rubbing your wrists, sitting curled up in the chair, trembling from the leftover adrenaline.
​"Oh God," Matt gasped, choking on a breath. He pulled his knees to his chest, shrinking back against the wall, looking smaller than you had ever seen him. The terrifying predator from seconds ago was completely gone, replaced by a broken man realizing he had just terrified the only person he lived for.
​"I'm sorry," Matt choked out, burying his face in his hands, a dry sob tearing from his throat. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I lost control. I heard those words and... everything went dark. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think."
​He looked up at you, his eyes red and filled with deep, agonizing guilt.
​"Please don't look at me like that," he begged, his voice trembling pitiably. "Please... don't be afraid of me. I would never hurt you. I swear to you on my life, I would never hurt you..."
​You sat there, catching your breath, watching your husband shivering against the wall, ruined by his own obsession. You had wanted to see a reaction, but you had inadvertently cracked open the chest of a man who loved you with a desperate, terrifying intensity—a man who couldn't fathom a world where you weren't his.
​Slowly, still shaken, you slipped out of your chair and walked over to him, realizing that while his love was scary, it was real. And you were never going to make a joke like that ever again.
