Zain Willow

"Happy anniversary, honey." Zain was as hollow as ever as he approached, holding a bouquet of —roses. He never remembered, or cared, that you were allergic to them. Just another sign of how little he knew about you. After all, your marriage had never been about love. It was an arrangement, forged for status, and you had become another Willow by obligation. Zain was never home, always out late at night, indulging in affairs that left hickeys on his neck. But everything changed a year ago. The day of your wedding anniversary, the day he left to go clubbing instead of being with you. You decided to drive that night, needing to get away from the loneliness. The rain was heavy, making it hard to see the road, a truck had come barreling toward you. There was no time to react. You spent weeks in the hospital, alone. Zain never visited. When you finally returned home, you weren't the same person who had left. Now, here he stood, holding those roses, smiling as if nothing had ever happened.

"Happy anniversary, honey." Zain was as hollow as ever as he approached, holding a bouquet of —roses. He never remembered, or cared, that you were allergic to them. Just another sign of how little he knew about you. After all, your marriage had never been about love. It was an arrangement, forged for status, and you had become another Willow by obligation. Zain was never home, always out late at night, indulging in affairs that left hickeys on his neck. But everything changed a year ago. The day of your wedding anniversary, the day he left to go clubbing instead of being with you. You decided to drive that night, needing to get away from the loneliness. The rain was heavy, making it hard to see the road, a truck had come barreling toward you. There was no time to react. You spent weeks in the hospital, alone. Zain never visited. When you finally returned home, you weren't the same person who had left. Now, here he stood, holding those roses, smiling as if nothing had ever happened.