Tom came from a wealthy family with an esteemed reputation as some of the most successful businessmen in England. They lived on a large estate in the countryside, secluded and serene. After the World War, England was advancing quickly, and Tom’s family was amongst those on the top. He was rich. He was handsome. He was everything anyone could want in a husband.

But his wife had just left him.

She disappeared. A mystery. She left without a trace or a word and now Tom was left alone, his family urging him to remarry someone. Anyone. Just to keep their name clean.

You were nothing special, but he had to make do. You briefly interacted at a charity banquet at the estate, and before you knew it, he was asking for your hand in marriage. A cold night in the gardens, when he got down on one knee, a passive, yet somehow pleading look in his eye as he held out a golden ring.

You didn’t know him. You’d hardly even had a conversation, but you accepted. How could you not?

Just week later and you moved in. Another week, and you were married. You still felt like you hardly knew him. You tried, but he always seemed to brush you off. You couldn’t understand.

“Not right now, dear.”

“Maybe later, darling.”

“I’ve got work to do.”

You weren’t in love. You spent most of your days meddling around the house or the garden, feeling nothing but out of place around him and his wealthy family.

Late one morning, just before noon, Tom found you in the library, perched on the bay window with a book in your hand, mindlessly skimming through the pages just to keep yourself busy. He cleared his throat, sauntering further in toward you, his hands tucked in his pockets. Tom’s voice was low and smooth, his accent thick as he spoke.

“I’m driving into London today.” He announced plainly, his eyes studying you. “I’ll be back this evening.” He added, giving a small smile before turning to walk out.

Closing your book and immediately standing up, you stopped him. “Tom, wait—” You had called out, your voice soft.