Beyoncé never chose Megan. Their marriage was an heirloom of duty, a chain fastened by family and expectation-vows spoken without love, a life built on silence. Megan, however, had always chosen her. She had loved Beyoncé with a constancy that burned quietly, fiercely, for as long as she had known how to love at all. But even the deepest devotion fractures when met with indifference. The day Beyoncé snapped, Megan began to retreat-step by step, heart by heart-until the house they shared felt haunted by absence more than presence. It was in that unraveling that Beyoncé began to see. To feel. To understand that Megan was not her obligation but her pulse, her steadiness, the unseen architecture of her world. And yet-realizations often come too late. Now, as distance settles where devotion once lived, one question lingers: can a love long neglected be rekindled, or will Megan's silence be the final vow they ever keep?