"Was there even one second—one single second—where you actually loved me?"
He lowered his head and said nothing.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my wedding night.
——
I died without ever getting an answer.
I swallowed the rage churning inside me and pinned a polished smile back on my face.
Making a scene now would be slapping both the Farley and Henson families across the face in public. The fallout would snowball into something unmanageable.
The reception finally ended.
Back at the bridal suite, I rested my hand on the door handle, about to push it open.
The light inside clicked off.
Exactly like last time.
I'd thought he was just tired and had gone to bed early. I'd even felt sorry for him, worried he'd been overworked.
He'd turned off the light on purpose. The message was simple: Don't come in.
I was stubborn back then. I pushed the door open anyway.
A single glass of water sat in the exact center of the bed.
Sylvester Farley wore a navy silk robe. He sat on the far side of the mattress, poised and elegant, like royalty holding court.
"Rose Henson. We both know what this marriage is."
"This is the line. Cross it, and I walk."