Our wedding was small, attended by only a few of her friends. She gave me the keys to a brand-new luxury car and handed me the property deeds in a wedding envelope.
She stood in her white dress, face carefully made up, smiling at me as though she were keeping a promise she had made long ago.
The Moment the Fabric Fell
That night, I helped her into our bedroom. Her hands trembled as she removed her dress. When the skirt fell to the floor, I froze.
Her back was covered in scars — some faded and old, others fresh and red. They ran from the nape of her neck to her waist.
I stammered, “What happened to you?”
She wrapped a scarf around herself and spoke in a distant voice.
“This is the price I paid to get where I am. I have known betrayal, cruelty, and hard labor. I was treated poorly by people I trusted. But I rose from the bottom. There’s no shame in surviving.”
I didn’t know what to say. But as I would soon discover, her story was not yet complete.
The Sleepless Nights
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