The day I married Joe felt like magic. It was everything I dreamed of. I stood in front of him at the altar in my lace wedding dress, heart fluttering, hands trembling in his. He was perfect, his smile soft and full of promise.
"You look like a dream," Joe whispered, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. "I can't believe I get to call you mine."
I smiled, breathless.
The courtship had been fast. Joe was everything I ever wanted. He is sweet and attentive and bought me flowers for no reason. He asked about my day, my thoughts, and my dreams. He always treated me like I was precious.
He didn't just compliment my looks; he also praised my mind.
"You went to Stanford, right?" he asked one night over dinner. "Top of your class, if I remember."
I blushed, surprised. "How did you know that?"
"I do my research." He leaned in, brushing his fingers along mine. "Brains and beauty. You're the full package."
He made me feel seen.
Loved.
I tried to resist how fast it all moved, but I was grieving, lonely, and starving for affection. And he was everything I had dreamed of in silence.
When he proposed in my father's garden—a place I hadn't stepped into since the funeral—I said yes.
I told myself I was doing it for the family. For stability. But the truth was simpler:
I wanted to believe in love.
We had dated for a month, and it had been perfect. The way he looked at me made me feel like I was the only woman in the world. When we walked into a room, everyone turned to stare, women green with envy, but his eyes stayed on me. Like I was something rare. Something he cherished.
He introduced me to his closest friends and always included me in all their activities. If I couldn't go with him, he would also not go. His closest childhood friend, Lindsay, became my best friend also. She was the first true female friendship I ever had, and she was the best.
When I asked her if she was OK with me and Joe being together, she scoffed and replied, "I have known that fool for years, since every aspect of him. I am so not going near him even with a 10-foot pole."
I laughed hard. Lindsay always used every opportunity to talk him down. They were like siblings.
She looked at me with raised brows. "Are you sure you want to be with him? He is an idiot. Don't let the suits and nice hair fool you. It's not too late; let us elope together and leave his ass."
Joe heard her and shouted from where he was seated, talking with a friend across the table. "Hey! Stop trying to steal my finance, dumb nuts."
I nearly ended up on the floor with how hard I was laughing.
A few days before the wedding, I asked him what he would do if I changed my mind.
He took my hand and said softly, "Then I will still stay in your life. I want you, not your name, not your family. Just you."
I believed him.
So that day, as I stood under an arch of roses, I gave him my heart with both hands.
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The first few months of marriage were bliss.
I was glowing. Everyone said so.
People called me lucky; the women who used to look down on me now looked at me with envy.
"You married a prince," one of them whispered at a gala.
And it felt true.
I was the perfect wife: soft-spoken, sweet, and supportive. I let him take the lead in public. I didn't speak out of turn. I smiled beside him and made sure the world saw us as perfect.
I cooked his favorite meals. I learned how he liked his suits pressed and his whiskey poured. I folded into his world like I was born for it.
And slowly, without even realizing it, I began to let go of the woman I had trained to be.
I had built myself to be strong. Strategic. Powerful. I had studied global economics, organized black-market transport networks, and streamlined operations for Vito Corp across Europe.
But I gave it all up for soft kisses and sweet promises.
I let go of the empire so I could be someone's wife. Because for once, I wanted love more than power.
I wanted to be chosen.
I wanted to be kept.
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But love, it turned out, was a fragile thing.
I thought I had done everything right. But slowly, things began to change.
He started ignoring my input on family syndicate matters. A sharp look when I corrected something in reports or contracts. Anger when I asked him to consult me before approving a deal.
Then anytime I asked about a deal or a meeting, he'd wave me off with a quick, "Don't worry about it. I've got it covered."
Soon I stopped being updated about any business matter, and I didn't push because I didn't want him to be angry.
Long business trips.
He stopped coming home, and when he did, he barely came to sleep in our bed.
After a few months I put my foot down and asked him if he wanted a divorce. He has gaslighted me and acted like everything was in my head.
He returned to sleeping in our room, but when he did, he barely touched me.
Anytime I touched him, he flinched away or acted like I disgusted him.
I started to hate myself. Maybe there was something wrong with my appearance. I started exercising, dieting, and every new skincare and makeup up routine I could find.
It didn't work.
I told myself it was stress. That he loved me, but the pressure of the family business was getting to him. That this was just a phase. That every couple went through ups and downs. It would pass.
I was so alone; all the friends I had were people I knew through him. Even my closest friend was his childhood friend.
He was my entire world. I couldn't give up on our relationship.
Months turned into years.
Pushed to the point of desperation, I thought maybe if I gave him a child, things would get better.
We tried. Getting him to even have sex with me was a task on its own.
Month after month, I waited. I tracked dates, prayed, and cried quietly in the shower or into my pillow when my period came, month after month.
Nothing.
After a year, I went to different doctors. They all found nothing wrong.
But still nothing.
Joe started avoiding the topic. When I brought it up, he would sigh like I was disturbing him and dismissively say, "It will happen when it's meant to."
Then, after three long years of unhappy marriage, I went to our family lawyers and had them draw up divorce documents. I was exhausted and empty; I was ready to give up. It was clear he didn't want to remain with me; let me let him go.
My godfather was so happy; he has been telling me for years about how I was giving Joe too much power over me and the business. He hated the way I had shrunk myself because of him and how unhappy I was. He quickly made sure the documents were prepared and ready within days.
Then, as if sensing it, Joe changed again.
He suddenly became sweet. Loving. Like the man I had fallen in love with.
One night, he pulled me into his lap, brushed the hair from my face, and said gently, holding my hand, "I have been thinking. Maybe it's time we tried IVF."
I sat up with surprise, eyes filling with tears. "Really?"
He nodded, brushing my hair back. "Let us give ourselves the best chance. Since your eggs aren't strong enough, let us use fertilized donor eggs. We can still make a family, Lily. I know you will be the best mother for our kids." He smiled and kissed me, getting excited at the thought, "Just imagine, two children running around, a boy and a girl." With my wonderful looks and your brains, they will be perfect."
I smiled, loving the excitement in his eyes. He looked so happy talking about it. But I hesitated. I didn't like the idea of using donor eggs, especially since all the doctors said there was nothing wrong with mine.
"Hmm… honey… I don't think we should use donor eggs yet. The doctors said there was nothing wrong with mine. Maybe you should go for tes…."
He froze and looked down at me, the excitement leaving his eyes. "You don't want to try? Have you given up?"
I looked at him, frowning a little; that was not what I meant at all. Why was he interpreting it that way?
"No, I have not given up. What I meant was…"
He slid me from his lap, got up, and started pacing. "You know I was hesitant to be a father so early, but because of your insistence, I decided to think about it, and now that I have accepted and am excited about the notion, you are saying you don't want to continue."
I looked at him in confusion. Insisted? Don't want to continue? What the hell was he yapping about?
I looked at him; he genuinely looked heartbroken. I don't want to use donor eggs until we have tried all options, but he was finally acting right after years. If I refuse this now, he may become cold again. I really wanted to save this marriage; the thought of divorcing him and ending up alone filled me with dread.
It is not as if having a child through donor eggs will make it less mine.
I stood and threw my arms around him, overwhelmed.
"I am sorry I was being difficult," I whispered. "Thank you for not giving up on us. We will go with your idea."
Finally, for the first time in a long time, I felt hope.