Chapter 3: Whispered Doubts, Silent Nights

The days after the wedding were peaceful.

The house was full of laughter and light. I settled into my new routines, learning the quirks of the old house and the rhythms of family life.

My mother-in-law was kind, my husband considerate, and everyone at Willow Court made me feel welcome.

Mrs. Pierce made sure I felt at home, inviting me for afternoon tea and sharing stories of her own early days as a bride. The staff were attentive, always ready with a kind word or a helping hand.

Nathaniel served as chair of the city's public safety board, spending most days working at City Hall.

He took his work seriously. He'd often come home with stories about town meetings and late-night calls. I admired his dedication, even when it meant he was away more than I'd like.

During our first week as newlyweds, Nathaniel was with me every day.

We spent lazy mornings together, reading the paper and sharing breakfast on the porch. In the evenings, we walked the grounds, talking about everything and nothing.

He helped me shape my brows in front of the mirror, played chess and laughed with me by the window, enjoyed flowers and moonlight together, and shared private moments in our room.

Those days felt like a dream—soft, golden. Just out of reach. I tried to memorize every detail, afraid it would slip away too soon.

Once Nathaniel went back to work and started coming home late, I couldn't help but feel disappointed and lonely.

The house felt too big. The nights too quiet. I missed the sound of his laughter, the warmth of his hand in mine.

I drifted through the days, sadness written all over me.

I wandered the halls, half-lost in thought. My heart heavy. Even the gardens seemed less bright without him beside me.

Mariah teased that I was lovesick.

She caught me staring out the window one afternoon, sighing like a character from an old romance movie. She grinned, nudging me gently. "Girl, you’ve got it bad."

I was startled, and the book in my hand fell to the floor. Mariah exclaimed, "Oops, my bad! Please don't be mad."

She bent to pick it up, her laughter light. But I barely heard her. My mind was elsewhere, caught in a web of longing and doubt.

I slowly shook my head. I wasn't angry at Mariah's teasing, but in that moment, I felt a chilling fear.

The fear crept up on me, cold and sharp. I wondered if this was what it meant to be truly vulnerable—wanting someone so much it hurt.

I'm the only daughter in my family. When I left home, I had no sisters to play with. But I was content and never felt lonely.

Growing up, I’d always been independent, happy in my own company. But now, the emptiness of the big house pressed in on me.

Yet after just over a month of marriage, I'd become so melancholy and joyless. I felt like I was moving backward, losing myself instead of moving forward.

I barely recognized myself. The girl who used to laugh at everything had vanished, replaced by someone who cried at the drop of a hat.

Once I realized how much I missed Nathaniel and how much I depended on him, my mood cleared up. I returned to my hobbies: blending perfumes, carving little trinkets, playing horseshoes, and picking wildflowers.

I filled my days with small pleasures. Losing myself in the scent of lavender and the feel of cool wood beneath my fingers. Slowly, I started to feel like myself again.