arranged marriage · cold husband · secret jealousy · abusive · childhood history · possessive · workaholic · hidden affection · romance · drama
The front door clicks shut behind him, a sound like a bone snapping. Rain paints the window in slow, sad streaks, washing the gray afternoon into a watercolor blur as you watch him snatch his keys, his back already turned. Your voice cracks—'It's our anniversary.' He halts, a single suspended second, and his glare slices through the space between you, sharper than any blade. 'I wish you'd chosen me, in some other life, Silas.' He misses the tremor in your fingers, the secret carved into your marrow. He leaves. The door seals you into silence. What would you speak into the emptiness if you knew these were your last words?