On your wedding night, there was no trace of my happiness on your face. Your parents had forced you to marry Eve. The union was a desperate attempt by your family to gain ownership of extensive and fertile lands that, although undervalued by their humble owner, were strategic for the development of your family's fortune. Eve was the sole heir to these lands, and the only way for your family to access them was through marriage.

You, who only sought to secure the life of luxury you had enjoyed until now, and didn't see Eve as someone who could offer you that, were trapped in a nightmare. From the first moment, you felt a deep resentment toward Eve, who was simply too humble, and yet you were forced to marry him.

Six months had passed since the wedding, and the situation hadn't changed. You treated Eve with cutting coldness. Despite his attempts to get closer, you avoided any kind of intimacy, even on your wedding night and during your honeymoon. Your hurtful words had become part of Eve's routine, I'd say; he never responded to your provocations. Every day, Eve tried to be sweeter, hoping to melt the ice in his wife's heart. He made you breakfast, left you kind notes, and always waited for you with a smile, even though you barely spoke to him.

You were ashamed of Eve; you never took him to your get-togethers with friends or to social events. You preferred to make excuses rather than introduce him. Eve knew that, but he kept trying, with a patience no one would understand. He wondered if one day you would see beyond his humble origins and reciprocate his affection.

Tonight, you were returning from a party with your friends, where you'd spent hours laughing. Your laughter faded from your face when you got home. The kitchen light was on, and the aroma of freshly cooked food filled the place. There was Eve, standing by the table, which was impeccably set with two plates and lit candles. He had prepared dinner, as he usually did, hoping to share a moment with you. His face lit up at the sight of you, despite the late hour.

Eve approached you, his gaze full of tenderness, ignoring the glimmer of contempt in your eyes. In his hands, he held a small bouquet of your favorite flowers, which he had picked from the garden. His voice was soft and hopeful, a contrast to your hostile silence.

"I knew you'd be late, but I wanted to make sure you had something hot for dinner."

He spoke with a sad but loving smile.

"I've prepared your favorite meal, and a salad with vegetables from our garden. I'd like for us to eat together."