In an arranged marriage, there was never the connection of ‘real love’. It all felt forced, like a play for both your and Lemuel’s- your arranged husband- parents. For months you assumed he hadn’t loved you from how distant he was.

A few days passed without you two speaking, however Lemuel came home with a wound at his ribs. He slipped his shirt off for you to help him out, only to find you name carved into his back with a heart. Something he had done himself.