When Dust Meets the Lighthouse

As I returned home, intermittent laughter echoed from the second-floor bedroom.

I took off my coat, draped it over my arm, and hesitated for a moment.

Finally, I walked toward the bedroom with heavy steps.

Pushing open the ornate oak doors, I immediately saw Jeffery.

His crisp white shirt was half-open, and his tie was long gone.

The girl in his arms was feeding him strawberries.

Though he playfully pushed her hand away, his expression revealed he was quite pleased.

Hearing footsteps, the young girl turned with a smile:

"Oh, Jeff, is your housekeeping bringing the coffee—"

Her unfinished words died in her throat, and the strawberry in her hand fell to the plush carpet.

When she saw me, her face turned pale, and she stammered:

"Ms... Ms. Sloan..."

My gaze fell on her neck and shoulders, where a string of hickeys was glaringly obvious.

My throat felt constricted, my voice hoarse:

"Jeffery, what are you doing?"

He lifted his eyelids to glance at me, clicking his tongue impatiently.

His long fingers played with the girl's blonde hair:

"You're asking the obvious. Can't you see for yourself?"

Jeffery held the girl close, looking me up and down.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, he continued:

"But Naomi, you really should learn from these young girls."

"It's bad enough that you always look so gloomy, but you're also as rigid as a statue."

"It's really quite depressing and boring."

—

I've known Jeffery for eighteen years, and he's resented me for just as long.

When I was seven, my mother interfered with his once-happy family.

Yet, barely two years later, she ran off with all of Uncle Sam's money, leaving only me, a burden, behind.

I volunteered to go to an orphanage, but Jeffery firmly refused.

His eyes blazing red, he gripped my arms painfully.

"Naomi, don't even think about it. You'll spend your whole life by my side, atoning for your sins."

I nodded, thinking that what he wanted, what he needed, was for me to stay by his side, working like a slave until he was satisfied.

Unexpectedly, after graduation, he took me to get our marriage license.

When Uncle Sam found out about our marriage, he was furious.

After calming down, he pulled me aside, crying:

"Naomi, what Jeffery did was wrong, but don't blame him."

Uncle Sam paused, then advised me,

"Since you're married now, try to make it work—"

"Naomi, please give the Sadler family an heir."

He said the last part so solemnly that I asked, confused,

"Uncle Sam, will having a child count as atonement?"

He froze, then covered his eyes, unable to look at me.

His voice choked with emotion:

"Of course it does... I'm sorry, Naomi."

—

On our wedding night, I reached out, my hand resting on the buttons of Jeffery's shirt.