Chapter 1: The Wound
The first time Ada tasted betrayal, she was seventeen. Her father walked out one rainy evening, promising to be back before dinner. He never returned. Weeks later, she overheard neighbors whispering that he had started a new family in another town.
For years, Ada carried that memory like a wound under her ribs—sharp, invisible, and impossible to touch without flinching.
Her mother tried her best, but life hardened her too. Whenever Ada asked why her father left, her mother's answer was always the same: "Men cannot be trusted. Protect yourself, or you'll be destroyed."
That sentence became Ada's private law. She grew into adulthood strong on the outside but suspicious on the inside, smiling in public yet bracing herself for heartbreak in private.
By twenty-six, Ada had mastered the art of survival. She worked at a bank, lived alone in a modest apartment, and kept a tight circle of friends. Still, whenever someone—especially a man—showed her kindness, her first instinct was to search for the hidden trap.
Then she met David.
It was at a friend's wedding, the kind of event Ada usually avoided. Weddings only reminded her of promises that rarely lasted. But when she saw David across the dance floor, laughing with easy confidence, something about him slipped past her defenses.
Later, when he offered her a drink, she nearly refused out of habit. Instead, she surprised herself and said yes.
David was gentle in a way Ada had never known. He asked about her dreams, not just her job. He listened—truly listened—when she spoke. For the first time in her adult life, Ada felt seen. Within months, they were inseparable. He drove across town after work just to bring her dinner, sat with her late into the night as she vented about clients, and never made her feel like a burden.
Two years later, when he proposed, Ada cried—not just from joy, but fear. A voice deep inside whispered: What if he leaves too? What if men really cannot be trusted?
She silenced that voice. David wasn't her father. He wasn't like the men who had disappointed her before. He was different. She clung to that belief and walked down the aisle with hope in her heart.
The first year of marriage was almost perfect. David adored her, and Ada tried to relax into the safety he offered. But soon, hairline cracks appeared in ways too small for outsiders to notice.
One evening, David came home late. His phone had died, so he couldn't call. Ada sat at the dining table, food untouched, her chest tightening with each passing minute. When he finally walked in smiling, saying, "Sorry, traffic was a nightmare," something inside her snapped.
"You couldn't even call me?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she meant.
"I told you—my phone died. Ada, it was just traffic," he replied, confused.
But to Ada, it wasn't just traffic. It was her father walking out. It was every broken promise, every vanished man. Her heart couldn't tell the difference.
That night, David slept on the couch after she accused him of not caring. Alone in the bedroom, Ada cried—hating herself for overreacting, yet powerless to stop the storm.
The next morning, she apologized. David forgave her easily, brushing it off with a kiss. But Ada knew something had shifted. Her past had seeped into her present, staining a love that didn't deserve it.
The pattern repeated. If David laughed at a message from a female colleague, Ada's stomach twisted. If he forgot to reply to her text, she felt abandoned. She tried to hide the panic, but sometimes it erupted as angry words she didn't mean.
Each time, David's eyes carried a new layer of hurt.
One night, after another argument ended in silence, Ada lay awake staring at the ceiling. She thought about how much she loved her husband, how desperately she wanted their marriage to last. Yet beneath that desire pulsed a darker truth: her wounds might be too deep, her trust too broken.
For the first time, Ada asked herself the question she had always avoided:
What if I become the very reason this marriage fails?
She didn't have an answer.
But she would soon find out.