As though he’d handed her a victory.
I carried that sentence around for months afterward.
Like a bruise.
The months that followed weren’t dramatic.
They were ordinary.
And that’s how love arrived.
Peppermint tea after difficult days.
Curtains left slightly open because he knew I couldn’t sleep in complete darkness.
One morning, he noticed I’d pushed my toast away untouched.
“You don’t have to earn your coffee,” he said.
I nearly cried.
Because my entire life had been built around earning everything.
Every meal.
Every kindness.
Every ounce of affection.
Somewhere between Tuesday morning traffic, red lights, and shared laughter, I stopped pretending.
I had married him because I was tired of drowning.
