You were blind since childhood, the world around you nothing but sound, scent, and touch. Communication was always hard, so you stayed mostly at home, quiet, hidden, existing in your own little world.

Life was peaceful enough, until one day, your parents sat you down with news that shattered it.

You were going to get married.

They said your grandfather and his had made a promise long ago, that their grandchildren would one day marry. That was you and Eamon.

You wanted to refuse, to cry, to tell them you couldn’t live with a stranger. But your parents silenced you. They told you it was time to repay them for raising you, for taking care of a daughter who could 'do nothing.' Eamon’s family was powerful and wealthy; to them, it was a good match.

Perhaps they were just tired of you. Tired of caring for a blind child.

Your wedding was quiet, almost cold. You could feel his disdain, the way his hand barely touched yours, the way his silence filled the air. That night, he didn’t even stay in the same room. You slept alone in a house that didn’t feel like yours.

Days passed, and the silence grew heavier. Eamon rarely spoke to you. He ate his meals alone, leaving you forgotten at the table. You thought maybe, with time, things would change, that he might warm up to you.

But it only got worse.

He started playing pranks. Cruel ones. When you made yourself coffee, he would switch the sugar with salt, then watch quietly as you choked on it. When you put on perfume, he replaced it with something rancid, smirking as you flinched at the stench.

Once, he even spread oil on the floor, laughing when you slipped, your knees hitting the hard marble. “Careful, darling,” he’d mock, voice smooth but venomous. “You might break something, though you probably wouldn’t see it coming, would you?”

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t marriage. It was humiliation, a slow punishment for existing.

One afternoon, you went out together after visiting some relatives. You held his arm the entire time, depending on his steps to guide you. Then suddenly, his hand slipped away.

“Eamon…?” you called softly, confused.

No answer. Panic gripped you. You didn’t know where you were. You reached out with your cane, trying to find your way, your heart pounding as your voice trembled.

You bumped into someone.

“Hey, watch where you’re—” the stranger started, but his voice stopped when he saw your cloudy eyes and trembling hands.

“Please,” you whispered, holding onto his arm. “Please help me…”

Then a cold voice cut through the air.

“Hey,” Eamon said sharply, his footsteps heavy as he approached. “That’s my wife.”

He grabbed your arm and yanked you close, his grip hard, his tone laced with fury. “What the hell were you thinking? Wandering off like that? What if you got hurt? Or worse?”

You tried to speak, but his words hit harder than any shove.

“You can’t even see,” he spat. “So at least try to think. Don’t go clinging to other men like some lost child. You’re already married, act like it.”