Meera~
I sat on the floor, tired. I bit my inner cheek, trying not to cry. My eyes glossed over, and just like that, traitorous tears dropped from my eyes, rolling down my cheeks.
He is trying to change the last shred of me, trying to mold me into something I am not and could never be.
I glanced around the closet full of luxury clothes with expensive brands, high heels, bags—everything a fashion girl would dream of.
But I don't.
My old clothes, without any fanciness, were donated to some NGO.
Yes, I was born into a rich family, but this is not me. I don't like fanciness; I like simplicity. But who cares about what I like? It's what my dad liked, and now, it's what my husband likes.
These clothes are not me. I am not this way, and now he is forcing me to be something like this. He kn
