❝𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐬❞

A Confrontation in the Library

One evening, not long after William's departure, Eliza sat alone in the library. She held the letter he had given her before leaving. She had read it countless times, memorizing the words that spoke of his affection, his pain, and his hopes for her happiness.

As she traced the delicate strokes of his handwriting, she heard the heavy tread of footsteps behind her. She turned to see Charles standing in the doorway, his face shadowed but his eyes sharp and piercing.

"What is that?" he asked, his voice devoid of its usual coolness.

Eliza froze, the letter trembling in her hands. "It's... nothing."

Charles stepped closer, his gaze narrowing. "Don't lie to me, Eliza."

For a moment, she considered hiding it, crumpling the letter into her skirts, but something in his tone stopped her. She placed the letter on the table between them and met his gaze.

"It's from William," she said simply.

Charles picked up the letter, his eyes scanning the page. His expression shifted as he read—first anger, then something softer, almost regretful. When he finished, he set the letter down with a sigh and turned to her.

"I've failed you," he said quietly.

Eliza blinked, unprepared for the admission. "What do you mean?"

"I married you because it was expected of me. Because it was practical. But I never gave you what you deserved—a husband, a partner, a life worth living." His voice faltered. "I see now how lonely you've been, how much I've hurt you. And yet you've stayed. You've endured."

She didn't respond, unsure of what to say. For so long, she had accepted her place in his world as little more than an ornament, a duty fulfilled. To hear him acknowledge her pain felt both vindicating and bittersweet.

Charles stepped closer, his voice firmer now. "I want to change that, Eliza. I want to be the husband you deserve. I want us to start again—properly this time. To build a family, to find some semblance of happiness together."

Eliza searched his face, looking for signs of insincerity, but found none. For the first time in their marriage, Charles seemed vulnerable, almost human.

"You're certain?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes," he replied. "Marguerite's death... it forced me to see the truth. She is gone, and the life I thought I wanted with her is gone too. But you—you are here. And I would be a fool not to see what I still have."

Eliza hesitated, her heart torn between hope and wariness. Could she truly trust this sudden transformation? Could she forgive him for the years of neglect?

"I don't know if it's possible," she admitted.

"Then let me prove it to you," he said. "Let me show you that I can be better."