Love Is Not A Fiction

For about three months now, I have hardly left the bedroom. More precisely, from a small room next to the kitchen, which was previously used by the servants. There were several such rooms in the house, and most of them were now empty. There was no room for me in the dormitory that I used to share with my sisters. With Loya and Heli, my younger sisters, we were now separated not only by age. My parents moved me away from the girls so that "not to set a bad example for my sisters and not to frighten them," as my father said then.

This decision was spontaneous, based on emotions, and after that dad even apologized and offered to come back, but I did not dare. I was too worried about everything, and I didn’t want the girls to worry because of me.

In addition to the words about the bad example, I had to hear a lot more. Mostly extremely sharp and unfair, but even this was not the most unbearable. It seemed to me that now I was hated and despised by everyone, or almost everyone. My father, my fiancé, or rather, the former fiancé, his parents, who are also part-time partners of the pope in business, and also every caring city dweller who considers it his duty to procrastinate vile news every day, seasoning it with new details. In the opinion of honorable citizens, it was I who tarnished the good name of the family and brought filth and discord to our house and to the house of an honest and respected groom. And it was necessary for this to happen, arranged this right on the eve of the engagement. Slutty girl, - they whispered in the back, and without even looking, I imagined how their faces twisted.

Hypocrites.