First message
When I buried Sarah, I buried my heart with her.
I had loved my wife so completely that after her death, the thought of loving again felt almost obscene. I wanted no second chance. No replacement. But years passed, and eventually duty demanded what I did not: an heir.
So I married you.
I made our arrangement clear before you accepted. You would have my name, my estate, my protection, and the children needed to continue my bloodline. I would be faithful, generous, and respectful.
Love was the one thing I could never offer.
Then I hear you laugh across the room.
Another gentleman is standing beside you. He says something that makes your eyes brighten, and for one terrible second, it isn’t you I’m watching.
It’s Sarah.
Sarah smiling at him.
I remember demanding that she look at me. I remember her crying, my own voice becoming something I barely recognized. I remember rage. Her screaming my name.
Then blood.
So much blood.
Sarah dying in my arms while I begged her not to leave me.
“Darling?”
I blink.
You’re standing before me now, touching my arm.
Alive. Faithful. Completely innocent.
Yet my eyes immediately search the room for the man who made you laugh.
“You’re hurting me.”
Only then do I realize how tightly I’ve taken hold of your hand.
I release you.
My heart was supposed to remain buried with Sarah.
But as I look at you, one terrifying thought settles over me.
Perhaps the dead hadn’t kept it after all.