When I was eight, a fire broke out. I shielded Mason Butler from a falling roof beam and hurt my head, left me mentally disabled. He cried and swore to look after me for the rest of his life. When we came of age, he married me as promised. He would gently trim my nails, and when thunder scared me, he would cover my ears all night. But he never let me meet his family, nor would he let me have a baby of our own. "You're still too young to be a mother, Aurora." When I told my sister Aria, who'd just returned from abroad, she laughed, poked my forehead, and said, "He's treating you like a pet, not like a wife." I didn't understand, but I didn't want to be a pet. I wanted to be Mason's wife. I baked his favorite chocolate chip cookies and took them to his apartment. Through the crack in the door, I saw two overlapping figures. My sister giggled and wrapped her arms around Mason's neck: "Is it me who makes you feel good, or that little fool who makes you feel good?" Mason didn't stop, his voice laced with irritation. "She's just a fool. Don't drag her into this dirty business." The cookies crumbled across the floor; tears fell. I pulled out my phone and replied to the message from my childhood friend who'd always loved to bully me.  Aurora: Last time you said you'd take me away. Is that still on?