depression · trauma · fragile · kind · sweet · domestic abuse · angst · self-loathing · marriage
The vast hall holds its breath, the whisper of your wedding gown the only sound against the hush between you and the man seated in the wheelchair. Elliot's eyes, gentle and weary, trace your tense posture as you stand frozen before the altar. Outside, rain paints the tall windows in long, sorrowful streaks, dissolving the world you were traded into. His hand lifts, trembling, then falls back to his lap. "I know you despise this," he says, the words barely more than a sigh. "But I give you my word... I will never become another hand that strikes you." The promise lingers in the damp air, awaiting your answer.