Ellie Thunberg

The wedding wasn’t the kind little girls dreamed about.

It wasn’t lined with white roses or filled with laughter. It was a quiet affair in the Coach’s garden, a forced solution to clean up a scandal rather than a celebration of love. The press had been informed, but only a handful of photographers were allowed in.

The dress I wore wasn’t tailored for me; it had been hastily altered from something Arianna once wore for a formal dinner. Thorin stood beside me in a charcoal suit, looking every inch the star athlete—but his expression was unreadable.

Coach Thunberg watched the ceremony like a businessman sealing a deal. Arianna was there too, her dove-like smile never reaching her eyes. I couldn’t shake the way she kept staring at me, as if she was carving my name into a gravestone.

The vows were short. The rings were plain. Thorin’s hand was warm in mine, but there was no lingering squeeze, no whispered promises. When the officiant pronounced us husband and wife, Thorin kissed me—chaste, mechanical—more for the cameras than for me.

That night, the tension between us bled into something else. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the whiskey Thorin downed in his study after the last of the guests had left. I’d had more to drink than I should have too, trying to drown out Arianna’s voice in my head: This is just the beginning of your misery, Ellie.

I don’t remember who leaned in first, only that his lips were suddenly on mine—rough, tasting of alcohol. One kiss became two. His hands were clumsy but insistent, mine equally unsteady. Clothes hit the floor without ceremony, and we stumbled into the bedroom.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t romantic. It was a fevered mistake born from blurred senses and leftover adrenaline from the day. By the time it was over, I wasn’t sure if it was truly him I’d been holding on to, or the last fragments of the man I thought I knew.

Thorin was in a foul mood this morning. He brushed past me without saying a word, his jaw tight and eyes shadowed. Just a few days into our marriage, and already the warmth—or whatever faint spark had flickered that drunken night—was gone.

“Ellie,” I heard Arianna’s shrill voice call from the living room, and I frowned, making my way there. My slippers slapped against the tiled floor, announcing my arrival.

“Yes?” I signed when she finally looked at me.

A little smirk curved her lips as she gestured to a glass cup on the table.

“Pick this up and wash it for me. I need to use this glass for my orange juice. It’s my favorite glass.”

My frown deepened. My hands moved sharply.

“I’m not a maid. I’m Thorin’s wife now.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Can you speak up?” She paused, then laughed lightly. “Oh, I forgot. You’re mute. How sweet.”

“Ari…” Thorin’s deep voice drifted from the staircase.

“I’m here, babe,” she cooed back, sweet as poisoned honey.

Babe? My husband? Why would she—

Thorin appeared, ruffling her hair. She pouted. “Hey! I spent hours combing this to perfection!”

“You still look good whether the hair’s messy or not,” he replied, heading for the fridge.

Hadn’t he seen me? I stomped my foot to catch his attention.

“What do you mean by ‘babe’? I am your wife!”

“If you have something to say, use your mouth to say it, Ellie. The movements of your hands make me dizzy.”

The words hit like a physical blow. My chest tightened. Was he siding with Arianna now?

For a moment, guilt flashed in his eyes, then it was gone.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, grabbing a bottle of water. “You wanted this marriage so badly, didn’t you? You wanted to carry the name ‘Mrs. Parker’ so badly? Well, there you have it. Enjoy it, brag about it—if anyone can even understand your hand-waving.”

“What is going on with you, Thorin? Why the change of behavior?” I signed slower this time.

“You’re acting innocent now? Makes me wonder how many times you’ve lied to me and manipulated me for your daily whims.” His voice was sharp, disgust lacing every syllable. He hurled the bottle at the wall, water spraying across the tiles, then stormed away.

What had I done? His eyes had held something worse than anger—disappointment.

“I wonder what sweet little Cinderella did to her Prince Charming,” Arianna’s voice floated from the corner, low and amused. My stomach churned.

“What did you tell him?” I signed.

She clicked her tongue. “One word of advice, Ellie. Be the first to initiate a divorce. Your Thorin is gone now. I told you, didn’t I?”

“Ugh! Oh my God!”

The moan came from the parlor, low and breathless. I froze, then hurried in. Had I left the TV on an x-rated channel?

“Thorin… yeah… please… yes, I’m all yours.” The female voice was husky, needy—and very real.

Two months into our marriage, and I already knew he was spending nights elsewhere. But I hadn’t expected this. Not here. Not in our matrimonial home.

My heart was pounding by the time I stepped into the room—and then it stopped. Thorin was behind her, pounding into her with brutal force. Marian. Arianna’s best friend. Her hair was a tangled mess, sweat glistening on her brow. She was bent over the couch, moaning shamelessly.

The sight hollowed me out. I gagged, choking, and then vomited onto the floor.

They stopped. Thorin’s glare cut into me, furious.

“Are you sick? Can’t you see I’m busy? Must you always show your detestable face in front of me? Can’t you just stay out of my lane? Why ruin my day with that ugly face?”

My hands shook as I signed. “This is our matrimonial home, Thorin.”

He laughed. “You mean your matrimonial home! You wanted this marriage so badly, didn’t you?”

“Would you still do this if we have children?”

His expression shifted to something colder. “Why would I want you to be the mother of my children when there are better options? What can you give me? More mute children like yourself? Or maybe deaf and dumb ones? Sorry, Ellie—I’ll pass.”