Rebecca listened to the rain and felt the weight of her years pressing against her chest. She thought of empty holidays, quiet dinners, and phone calls that never came. She nodded.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Let us try.”
There was no grand wedding. No satin gown or marble church. Only a small ceremony in her mother’s living room, a few close friends, simple food, and candles that flickered in the evening breeze. When the last guest left, Rebecca lay in their new bedroom, listening to rain tap the roof like soft fingers.
Daniel entered, carrying a glass of water.
“Drink,” he said gently. “You must be tired.”
His voice was calm, like warm tea on a cold day. He pulled the blanket over her shoulders, switched off the lamp, and sat on the edge of the bed. The silence felt heavy, filled with uncertainty and fear. Rebecca closed her eyes, waiting for something she did not know how to name.
After a moment, Daniel spoke, his voice barely louder than the rain.
“You may sleep. I will not touch you until you are ready. I never want you to feel afraid beside me.”