He Chose My Sister, So I Married His Enemy
I was building something that could reach women trapped in quieter versions of what had happened to me.
Damien brought tea throughout the morning, cleared space on the table, handled small interruptions without ever asking to see what I had written. When I stalled too long on one sentence, he noticed.
“Do you want advice, silence, or tea?” he asked.
“Tea first,” I said. “Silence second. Advice only if I ask badly enough.”
“That sounds like a contract I can obey,” he said.
“We are retired from contracts,” I reminded him.
“Then it is a promise with better manners,” he said.