cutiesheio
Seven Years of Hardship.
Seven years. That's how long I endured the roller coaster of emotions that came with being his wife. Seven years of sacrifice, of longing, of hoping for something more.
I don't even remember the last time I truly felt happy.
Ours was not a love story written in the stars. It wasn't the kind that people dreamed of or wished for. We married young-not out of passion, not out of love, but out of necessity. A shotgun marriage, they called it. A union without warmth, without choice. We were bound together by circumstance, but not by affection.
In the beginning, it was difficult.
We were strangers living under the same roof, forced to play the role of husband and wife. Every morning, I would wake up beside him, wondering if he felt the same emptiness that I did. Every night, I would close my eyes, silently wishing that one day, things would change. That one day, he would look at me-not just as the woman he married, but as the woman he loved.
And slowly, without even realizing it, my heart began to move on its own.
I fell in love with him.
Not because I had to, not because the world expected me to, but because in the quiet moments, in the little things he did without thinking, I saw glimpses of the man he could be. The man I wanted to love.
I wished, more than anything, that he felt the same. That beyond the duty, beyond the routine, he, too, had come to love me.
But love is not something you can force.
So I waited.
And I hoped.
Because if time could bring us together in a way we never expected, perhaps time could also teach his heart to love me back.