Broken Bonds, Intertwined Fates

Chapter I

Warning: Unlike The last hours of the First Printer of National Liberty and The end of the Goddess of Reason this mini fiction is based on some true elements but 97% invented (I will say the details at the end of the author's note). So if you want a fiction a little more historical you can look at this one or others if you wish.
There are also mentions of domestic violence and suicides (here the suicide of Babeuf and Darthé).

Broken Bonds, Intertwined Fates

 The young brunette woman stepped out of the carriage, thanking the coachman. Her servant followed, as ordered by her husband. While she appreciated his company, Marie-Angélique felt a twinge of irritation. Why did Louis-Marie not trust her, especially when she spoke to men in public? Once, at a gathering, a gentleman had complimented her while she was dressed as an Amazon, and after she graciously replied, Louis-Marie had promptly slapped her, accusing her of improper conduct. No matter how she tried to justify herself, insisting she meant no harm, her husband remained unmoved.

It wasn't the first slap, nor would it be the last. Sometimes, it was worse—each strike was a reminder of her husband's volatile nature, and she could still remember the coldness in his eyes as he lashed out, his hand stinging against her cheek. The shock of it left her breathless, a burning imprint that lingered long after the pain faded.

In the aftermath, when he sensed she was at the end of her rope, desperate trembling from his mistreatment, maybe ready to leave him, he would approach her with a facade of tenderness. He would caress her cheek, the same hand that had struck her now brushing her skin with a gentleness that felt both comforting and mocking. "I'm sorry," he would whisper, his voice low and soothing, as if that alone could erase the hurt. But even in his apologies, there was an insidious undertone—he subtly shifted the blame onto her, as if she were the one at fault for provoking him.

"Why do you make me do this? I should be more understanding. But you know you put me in difficult situations." he would say, his gaze piercing through her defenses. And in those fragile moments, she began to question herself, wondering if perhaps she really was to blame. Doubt crept in, wrapping around her heart like a vine, suffocating her sense of self-worth. Each tear she shed felt like a sign of her failure to please him, and with each whispered apology, she wrestled with the unsettling idea that maybe she had pushed him too far. How could she reconcile the man who claimed to love her with the one who hurt her? She felt trapped in an inextricable cycle of violence and manipulation.

To think that at the beginning, she had believed she would finally find happiness after that terrible widowhood, like her friend Sophie, widow of Momoro and now wife of Botot. But it had only been a mirage, a cruel twist of fate.

She remembered the first time she met her first husband while serving as a cantinière in Belgium, supporting the fervor of the French Revolution. The young woman had followed her father, an administrator for the Republic's clothing supplies, amid the chaos of war. With her job, she didn't hesitate to show her cheerfulness to everyone—after all, the men fighting for the Revolution needed to feel supported. She suspected her father had brought her along to present her as a potential match, as her mother often reminded her that it was high time she got married. "You're practically an old maid, Marie-Angélique!" she would chide, laughter tinged with concern.

Yet it was a man with a temperament opposite to hers who became her future husband in Belgium. He was often quick-tempered, while she displayed calm and serenity. When he was sent on a mission by the Convention, they met while she insisted he take a little more food.

"No, thank you," Ronsin replied curtly, eager to get back to his work and finish a report.

"You should at least hydrate a bit more, citizen," Marie-Angélique said, her voice light and teasing, her smile radiant against the backdrop of the war. "If I only listened to my instincts, I would end up sick because instead of eating properly, I would spend my energy without a good meal."