Sometimes people love badly.
Cowardly.
Possessively.
Sometimes they love what you provide.
Sometimes they love you and still betray you.
The useful question was not whether Adrian loved me.
It was whether his love was safe.
It wasn’t.
That evening, I slept in the same cabin.
Not because I wanted to prove strength.
Because I was tired of letting the room belong to him.
I opened the window.
Let sea air inside.
Placed my own water beside the bed.
Unopened bottle.
I smiled at that.
Not perfect progress.
Progress anyway.
Months later, the Mercer Star returned to the Evermere Isles for a charity voyage.
The captain asked whether I wanted the master cabin prepared.
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“Give it to someone else.”
“Which cabin do you want?”
“Forward guest.”
Smaller.
Brighter.
Different view.
That mattered.
People assumed surviving the honeymoon made me fearless.
It didn’t.
I became more careful.
