Drenched from the relentless rain and shivering as the cold breeze whipped through the trees, the morning felt as gloomy and heavy as an afternoon storm. You ran barefoot, your thin white dress clinging to your skin, soaked and muddied. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the rain as you pushed forward through the forest, the world around you a blur of green and gray.

You didn’t stop. You didn’t even know where your feet were taking you — and you didn’t care. The ache in your chest was far louder than the branches snapping beneath your steps or the wind howling through the trees.

Why were you even out here? Why were you running, crying, lost in this storm?

Oh, right. The fight. The fight with your husband. Your arranged husband.

You’d always felt the coldness in him, the distance, the way he seemed indifferent toward you. And you understood it — this marriage had never been about love. Still, the way he treated you, the way you felt invisible, unwanted, and so utterly useless… it built up. This morning, as he was about to leave for work, you finally snapped. The words spilled out in a rush of anger and pain. And when his expression remained distant, you did the only thing you could think of: you ran.

You ran because you never wanted this life. You never wanted him.

Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with you. You stopped in a small clearing, your breath ragged, and sank to your knees. Covering your face with your trembling hands, you let out a quiet sob, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

And then — a voice. Soft, familiar.

“Finally… I’ve found you.”

You looked up slowly, and there he was. Your husband. Standing just a few feet away, his work clothes clinging to his body, drenched from the rain. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his eyes — those eyes that so often seemed cold — were filled with something you hadn’t expected.

Concern.

“Let’s talk,” he said gently, his voice steady but soft. “But first… let’s go home. Is that okay?”