Because of poverty, my parents sold me to a rich man, but what happened on our wedding night sh0cked everyone…

Nine days later, wearing a wedding dress Arthur paid for, Matilda walked down the aisle as though walking to her own burial. Her first kiss occured at the altar, in front of strangers. That night, she entered Arthur’s home with shaking hands.

And behind the closed bedroom door, Arthur spoke first.

“Matilda,” he started quietly, “before anything happens, there’s something you need to know.”

She sat stiffly on the bed. The room felt too still.

“I know this marriage wasn’t your choice,” he said. “But I want you to know—I didn’t bring you here to harm you.” He swallowed hard. “I was born… different.”

He explained, haltingly, painfully, that his body couldn’t perform as a husband traditionally would. He wouldn’t be able to be intimate. He couldn’t father children.

He waited for disgust, for anger, for rejection.

Instead, Matilda felt something unexpected. She recognized what it meant to be trapped in silence. To live unseen. To be alone inside oneself.

Arthur stepped back, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re free, Matilda. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. You may have your own room. All I ask for is companionship. Someone to sit with at dinner. Someone to walk beside. I just… can’t bear the loneliness anymore.”

For the first time, she looked him in the eyes and saw not a stranger—but a wounded heart, just like hers.

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