After Three Years Of Silent Marriage นิยาย & เรื่องราว

I rushed out of the clinic with the report clutched tightly in my hand, my heart racing as if it wanted to outrun my body. I called for a taxi and headed home. My mind was a total mess. After three years. THREE YEARS!!! Three years of a marriage that felt more like a contract than a union. Three years of whispers, side glances, and unspoken judgments. Three years of being Marcus Hart’s wife in name, but never in truth. Now, everything would change. This baby would change everything. This baby is the answer I've always longed for. “Ma’am…. Ma'am…”

Three years later Amber was in her chamber alone but restless as she paced around the room, chewing on her finger. Her thought were however interrupted when Ignacio walked into the chamber. "Hey, pretty Alpha" He teased as he walked further into the chamber and Amber blushed softly despite her worries. "What's wrong? Why do you look so disturbed?" He asked as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you even calculating the years at all? It's been three years since we got married now"

It was just us—the sound of waves crashing faintly beyond the window, the feel of our skin against each other, the rise and fall of our breaths. The pace quickened, our kisses more frantic, our moans louder. And when we both reached that final, dizzying high, it felt like the stars themselves had exploded in our room. He collapsed beside me, pulling me into his arms as we lay in silence, catching our breaths, our hearts still racing in sync. “I can’t believe we’re married,” I whispered, still dazed. He chuckled, pressing a kiss on my temple. “And I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life making love to you.”

“Love you.” “Love you too.” The door closed. Silence settled like dust. I stood in the foyer for a long moment, staring at the wood grain, listening to the car start, reverse, fade down the street. Then nothing. Just the hum of the fridge and the distant tick of the clock in the living room. Three years married. Four if you count the engagement. The first year was fire—every night, every surface, breathless and laughing. The second year slowed. The third… almost stopped. Work trips. Late nights. “I’m exhausted, Tara.” “Not tonight.” “Maybe tomorrow.”

The names on it, George Pearce and Myra Larson, were jarring. George… My hands trembled as I picked up the scattered photos one by one. From childhood to adulthood, from school to workplace, and from youth to maturity… The two of them running hand in hand to school, George taking a big bite out of Myra's ice cream, and the two of them leaning against each other in an amusement park at night, smiling brightly… They… had known each other for a long time… They had been married for five years… In an instant, my three-year marriage turned into a joke.

The word was a whisper, but it cut like glass. Silence swelled between them again. Kathalina lowered her gaze to the papers. The ink waited. Her signature would serve three years of marriage, three years of silence, three years of carrying a love she never admitted aloud. Her mother's face flickered in her mind. The soft, fragile voice on her deathbed, whispering that Thirdie would protect her, care for her. She had promised. And for three years, she had kept that promise. But her mother had never seen Agnes.

"But after my concert in France, we decided to publicly announce our marriage that will happen next year." "How long has it been?" She shyly looked at us. "It's been three years I think. He proposed to me and asked my hand for marriage three years ago." I felt my whole system collapsed. Three years? Three damn years?! I shifted my eyes to Black who was silent. Although he's not talking, yet he was still intimidating and his aura was dangerously scary. However, I felt betrayed. 'I'm sorry, I fell out of love.' 'I'll be going now.'

And that’s when it hit me. Not with fireworks. Not with fear. Just… a quiet, sharp truth slipping into my thoughts like ice: I’m married. To Aaron Sinclair. For three years. No undo button. No reset. No escape. And the strangest part? I wasn’t scared. I was curious.

Because I couldn't bring myself to call anyone Not Claire, not my father and Certainly not Ethan. The cold seeped through my dress quickly as my heels splashed through puddles. Mascara burned the corners of my eyes. I wasn't even sure if I was crying anymore. Everything felt numb. Three years. Three years of marriage and somehow I'd ended up here. Alone and Thrown out. Walking through a storm while my husband ran to another woman. A bitter laugh escaped me. God. What a joke.

"Your wife has an ectopic pregnancy, and you didn't even know? Have you ever taken her for checkups? A little longer, and it wouldn't have been just a miscarriage. She could have died! What kind of husband are you?" The doctor's angry voice echoed down the hallway, directed at Erik Perez. The usually cold man lowered his head in silence, regret clear on his face. I turned away, my eyes hollow as my hands rested on my flat belly. It was confusing. How was I pregnant after years of sleeping in separate rooms from Alain?