He Made Me Hate Love

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er thighs, the bruises blooming across her hips, the sting of torn skin. Last night's violence was p

ing the sheet tighter to her chest. The tiles beneath her feet felt like ice, and each step sent a

knuckles white from gripping the porcelain. Her reflection was haunting. Ha

epping in, hoping the heat would erase everything - the pain, the night

n't cleanse tha

ven c

ollowed blurred

as not a wife. She was not a gue

greeted her with cold silence or withering glares. Whispers trailed after her when

alone.

d find the dining room empty, with cold leftovers left for h

led, she cleaned it. If laundry piled up, it was her hands that scrubbed and folded. When t

r servant girl had laughed, "You think you're too g

ad said

d up the mop a

use she

se it was

y way to survive in that c

thout a single word from him. He would walk past her like she was p

the phone, laughing - a sound sh

d, on the same side, staring at the cei

did

lept

e beside her