The morning I woke up, I looked around and noticed something was off.
My husband wasn't there.
It was our first morning as a married couple, and we had spent the night at one of the most luxurious hotels in the city—the kind meant to impress, the kind you dream about. But as I lay there alone in that massive bed, confusion crept in.
Where was Rogan?
I told myself maybe he'd just gone downstairs to check on some of the guests or maybe handle a quick errand. It made sense… sort of.
But then there was a knock at the door.
"Good morning, Madam Mali Marsden," a woman's voice said politely from outside.
I quickly pulled the robe around me and walked to the door.
"Good morning," I replied, still half-asleep and fully confused.
"When you're ready, ma'am, we're here to take you to the main house," she added with a respectful bow.
"To the main house?" I repeated, blinking.
"Where is Rogan?"
"Oh," she said, her tone casual. "He already left for business early this morning. He'll be away for the next three to four days."
I just stood there, stunned.
Three to four days?
He didn't even tell me anything.
A thousand things rushed to my lips. I wanted to complain, to ask how he could leave me alone the morning after our wedding. No goodbye, no message, nothing.
But I bit my tongue. I took a deep breath.
Maybe this is what marriage looks like, I told myself.
Maybe it comes with unexpected sacrifices. Maybe I just needed to understand him.
So I smiled politely, nodded, and said, "Alright, I'll be ready soon."
But inside… I already felt the cold distance settling in.
They took me to the main house in silence, almost like I was royalty.
There were maids everywhere—people ready to do everything for me. The place was enormous, beautiful, the kind of house anyone would dream of. I wasn't going to lack anything, at least not physically.
But aside from the maids, guards, and workers tending the gardens, there was no one else. No one that mattered. No husband.
Rogan wasn't home, and deep down, I already knew he wouldn't be.
They showed me to a room. It was spotless, well-decorated, and stocked with everything I could ever need—clothes, accessories, even skincare products in my favorite scent. It was perfect... on the surface.
The first day passed. Then the second. Then the third.
Still, no call from Rogan. Not even a text.
On the fourth day, just as I was beginning to feel like a stranger in my marriage, the maid knocked on my door.
"Madam, your husband is back," she said softly.
My heart fluttered. Finally.
I rushed down the stairs, excitement and relief in my chest. I imagined wrapping my arms around him, hearing him say he missed me, maybe even apologizing for leaving without a word.
But when I got to him and moved to hug him, Rogan stepped back slightly.
"Please," he said coldly, brushing past me like I was just another servant. "Take my luggage to my room."
I blinked.
"Your room?" I repeated, confused. "You mean… our room?"
But he didn't answer.
It wasn't until I carried his things upstairs and the maid pointed to a different wing that I realized the truth: we weren't going to be sharing a room. We weren't even sleeping on the same floor.
There was no apology. No explanation.
Not even a single, simple 'I'm sorry I left without telling you.'
He had been gone for four whole days. And now that he was back, it still felt like he hadn't come home at all.
I turned to the maid, my voice low but filled with confusion.
"You mean… my husband is going to be sleeping in this room?"
She gave a small nod, her tone polite but distant.
"Yes, ma'am. This is his room."
And with that, she turned and quietly walked away, leaving me standing there alone, staring at a closed door that suddenly felt like a wall between us.
Before I could take a step, the door swung open.
Rogan entered, looking tired but composed, carrying himself like a stranger walking into a hotel room, not a man coming home to his wife.
"Are you sleeping in a different room?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly. "Aside from mine?"
He didn't even hesitate.
"What do you expect?" he replied with a cold chuckle. "That I'll come and sleep in the same bed with you?"
Then, without meeting my eyes, he added, "Please… just get out of my room."
I stood frozen.
"Get out of your room?" I echoed, stunned. "I'm not getting this. Am I not married to you? What is happening here? I— I don't even know how to process this."
I barely finished speaking when Rogan grabbed my arm, spun me around, and shoved me out the door.
Just like that. No warmth. No explanation.
Just a shut door and a silence louder than any fight.
I stood outside his door for a moment, frozen in disbelief.
What just happened?
He hadn't been home for four days. No call. No text. No explanation.
And now, that's back, I thought I'd finally feel like his wife, but he pushed me out like I was nothing.
I blinked rapidly, fighting the sting behind my eyes.
No… It's too early to cry. It's too early to cry.
I straightened my shoulders, wiped away the tears before they could fall, and quietly walked back to my room.
As I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart ached with questions I couldn't answer.
Should I tell my father what I'm going through here?
Should I just pick up the phone and let him know his daughter is not living the fairy tale everyone believed in?
But then I whispered to myself,
No… this is marriage. I need to endure. I have to. Isn't that what everyone says? That a woman must endure to protect her home?
I looked around the beautiful, empty room, and for the first time, I realized… I wasn't sure who I had married.