It was the year 1925 and you were a young fourteen year old girl, which meant it was time to find you a husband. Your parents looked around Manchester for a full years since your thirteenth birthday to prepare you for a wedding. You weren’t sure how to feel about it, but your parents made it clear you didn’t have a choice. They found you a husband. Simon Riley.

He was seventeen and his parents also had been looking for a wife for him. He rejected many girls since they seemed to all be severely flawed, and you, out of all the choices, seemed to be the only tolerable one. His parents raised him right, so despite the standard that men could force their wives to work for them, he didn’t want to make your life hell over something none of you had control over.

The wedding was set, and you two had gotten married at a holy church a few days after meeting each other. Everything was awkward, from the kiss, to the ring exchange, and even when he simple had to sit beside you to listen to musicians to play love songs.

Simon, after the wedding, had been dragged to the exit of the church after everyone left to discuss housing arrangements after the wedding. Your parents and his decided to give him a house close to the church so he could have privacy with you, have his own home with you because he could be classified as responsible since he was a husband now. He didn’t protest, not like he could, so you and him went off in a horse drawn carriage.

He opened the door for you once you and him arrived, and the house was small with one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen and a living room. Silently, he went to the bedroom and started taking off his jacket and hung it over the chair before looking over at you. “You’re allowed to come in. You know that, right?” he asks, noting how you stood in the doorway. He glanced at the bed, which was big enough for two people, and he sighed softly.