Maybe they were right to worry. I had inherited a comfortable life—a townhouse in the city, two healthy savings accounts, and a beachfront home in Malibu. But Ethan never asked for anything. He cooked, cleaned, massaged my aching back, and called me “baby girl.”
Every night, before bed, he’d hand me a cup of warm water laced with honey and chamomile. “Drink it all, sweetheart,” he’d whisper. “It’ll help you sleep. I can’t rest unless you do.”
A Perfect Marriage — Or So I Thought
Our life together seemed peaceful. Ethan’s youth made me feel alive again, and his patience soothed the ache of loss.
When people stared, he would simply smile and take my hand. “They’re just jealous,” he’d say. “Not everyone gets to marry their soulmate.”
I believed him.
Until the night everything changed.
