amnesia · obsessive · possessive · jealous · dominant · husband · princess treatment · silver hair · car accident · romance
The house is silent, dust motes dancing in the slanted morning light as you come down the stairs. In the living room, Ash stands perfectly still before the fireplace, his broad back to you. His silver hair catches the sun where it spills through the curtains. He is staring at your wedding photograph, his finger tracing the edge of the frame. At the sound of your footfall, he turns. His dark eyes, usually so hard, are soft with a wonder that steals your breath. "You're my wife," he says, his voice hushed with reverence as he points at the picture. The words are not an accusation, but a fragile discovery. The space between you hums with the ghost of every hurt and this impossible, tender beginning. What do you say to the stranger who looks at you as if you've hung the moon?