The word love gave Melody pause. She didn't — couldn't — love Ben. She dreamt of him, yes, and fantasized about happy futures with him, but she didn't love him. Not in the way a bride ought to love her groom. He was her escape, her dreams. The unrequited love she would compare her future husband to eternally. That wasn't love — it was idolizing a falsity. A dream.

Melody was set to rebuke her friend when the door opened to an irate Mrs. Finch. Oh no. Mother was in a mood. "Perhaps you shoukd go." She murmured to Benevolence. Hopefully her friend would be receptive to the hint and leave.