I settle myself down on the couch, lazily draped in my nightgown. The soft fabric brushes against my skin as I glance at the clock. “7:30 PM,” it reads, the numbers glowing in the dim light of the room.

When Edward and I got home, I had sent him upstairs to sleep, but he insisted he was far too hungry to go to bed without something to eat. So, I reheated the soup I had made the day before on the stove, the steam rising in a comforting cloud, while he readied himself for bed.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a little hoarse as he yawned, stretching wide.

“You’re welcome. Hopefully, you’ll feel better tomorrow,” I replied, my voice filled with a forced optimism I didn’t quite believe.

“Yeah, but if not, we should probably head back to Bashayle. I’ll let you know in the morning how I feel. As of right now, I don’t think I’ll be getting much better.”

“That’s perfectly fine. Your health is what matters most. We can always come back later,” I said, a spark of relief escaping me at the thought of returning home—where I might see Margaret sooner than expected.

Edward ate the rest of his meal in silence, the quiet thickening the space between us. I didn’t join him, as I was still full from the food at the Graham’s house, my stomach content despite the ache in my heart.

As soon as he finished, I rushed him to brush his teeth and get into bed, growing impatient. My thoughts wandered, and all I could focus on was Margaret’s letters, still waiting for my attention.

Now, I find myself finally alone, nestled comfortably on the couch, the flickering candlelight dancing on the walls. I open both letters from Margaret, the paper crackling in my hands as I look at the dates and choose the older one to read first.

Florence–

I’ve been missing you so terribly. Even before you left, I felt the ache of your absence, as you were so absorbed in Edward during the wedding. But I’m glad you’re having a relatively good time. That’s what matters most. Despite not loving Edward romantically, at least you keep each other company. Perhaps this marriage won’t be so bad after all?

Oh, how I wish I were there with you! You know how much I love the beach. It’s one of my absolute favorite places in the world. Now, I can’t believe Edward is already asking you about children! That’s outrageous in my opinion. Why is he in such a rush? Does he need to prove something? Maybe he just wants to make sure you truly belong to him?

Sorry, you know how I feel about him. I try to be polite when he’s around, but deep down, I can’t stand him. Maybe it’s because he got to marry you instead of me. Still, I’d love to see you two have children, as you said. It would be a wonderful distraction and bring you joy, even though I know it’s all just part of the plan. In a way, I can’t help but get excited at the thought of being a kind of aunt to them, though not by blood. What a mouthful, huh? Have fun reading that part.

But aside from all that, I heard you and Edward had a fight over a queer bar. That’s a first! But more seriously, why did he bring it up in the first place? Florence, as good as you are at pretending, I have a feeling Edward might be catching on. Please, be extra careful with him. Every time he brings up “sexual deviants” or anything about us, just pretend to be disgusted, and agree with everything he says. We can’t afford another argument like that.

Also, I’ve been thinking… though this is the last thing we want to do, maybe we should spend a little less time together. Before you jump to any conclusions, it’s not because I’m tired of you—far from it! But if we want to keep our secret, we have to be cautious. I know it’s awful, but I feel like we need to distance ourselves for now. Edward’s not stupid, and he might start putting things together if we aren’t careful. I shudder just thinking about what would happen if he found out. I’d rather not know.

Anyway, aside from all that, I’m glad the honeymoon is going smoothly for you. I can’t wait for you to return—I miss you so much, Florence. My heart aches for you. I’m eagerly waiting for your return! (Though I’ll have to be patient, unfortunately.) Take care of yourself, love. You deserve this vacation.

With all my love,

Margaret

The words feel like they pierce me as I read the second half of the letter, where Margaret talks about us needing to distance ourselves. The tears well up almost immediately, my vision blurring as I try to hold them back. But they win, and soon my face is wet with sorrow, droplets falling onto my nightgown. I’m not sure why this has affected me so much—usually, I’m able to keep my emotions at bay. But not this time.

I let myself cry for a few minutes, quietly sobbing into the pillow beside me. At one point, I swear I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, but as the sound stops, I realize it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. If Edward were coming down, I could always say I was worried about his health, which, in part, is true. I do care about him, after all.

When I finally collect myself, I prepare for the next letter, steeling myself for whatever painful words it may hold.

My dearest Florence,

I smiled when I read your last letter. I’m so happy you’re enjoying your vacation, even though I miss you terribly. Like I said before, you needed this, and I’m glad you’re taking the time for yourself. And I have to say, your description of Edward’s picture of you was surprisingly good—who knew you could describe something so well? I think I can picture it in my head, but we’ll have to wait until I see it for myself to know if I’m close.

As for me, I’m doing okay, though my parents have been on my case lately. They keep pushing me to find a man to marry, especially now that you’re already married at eighteen. I told them I wasn’t ready, but they didn’t like that response. My mother said, “If you don’t find someone within six months, we’ll choose someone for you.” We had a little argument after that, in which I insisted I should have a say in my future, just like you did.

She didn’t like that at all, but my father said, “We just want the best for you, Margaret. We want to make sure you choose someone who is kind, thoughtful, and has the means to provide for you.” I snapped back, saying, “What do you think I am? Stupid? I can make my own choices, thank you very much.” It worked, though, thankfully—they stopped pushing the issue for now.

But I’m worried. I really don’t want to get married anytime soon. I feel so bad that you had to, especially at such a young age. Why should we be forced to think about marriage when we should be enjoying ourselves and exploring the world together for a few years? It doesn’t feel fair. Do you agree?

Enough of my rambling, though. I miss you so much! I can’t wait to see you again!

With all my heart,

Margaret

As I finish reading, my anger boils over. I want to scream. How dare her parents force her into this? They’re ruining everything. Our plan had always been to wait until we were at least twenty-five, but now they’re pushing her toward marriage too soon. What if she can’t choose who she marries? If she’s forced into this, we won’t have time together, and it will destroy everything.

My fists clench in frustration as tears begin to spill again. I wipe them away furiously, but then I notice someone standing in the doorway. It’s Edward.

“What happened, love?” he asks, his voice full of concern as he walks over and sits beside me, pulling me into his arms.

“It’s nothing, really. Just worried about you,” I lie, trying to stop my voice from cracking. “It’s nothing to do with the letters. I was just thinking about you while reading them, and… I couldn’t focus.”

“Shh,” he whispers, gently placing his finger on my lips to stop me from speaking further. “You’re worried about me?”

“Yes,” I say softly, though my heart feels heavy with the weight of my lies. “I don’t like it when people I care about are sick. It makes me feel powerless.”

“Are you sure it’s nothing to do with the letters?”

“Of course not! The letters are fine. I just…” I trail off, too ashamed to explain further.

“Mmm,” Edward murmurs, stroking my hair as he holds me close. It’s strange, but his embrace is oddly comforting, despite everything. The irony doesn’t escape me—here I am, comforted by a man who would never accept me for who I truly am.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll see a doctor and get better. I promise.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

After a few moments, I pull away. “Wait, why did you come downstairs?”

“I was thirsty. I should go get a glass of water. Are you coming upstairs to sleep?”

I think for a moment, my mind still reeling. “Yes,” I say at last. I’m tired, emotionally drained, and ready for bed.

Edward nods, then heads to the kitchen for water. I quickly stuff the letters back into their envelopes, hastily wiping away the remnants of my tears, and follow him upstairs.