She couldn't have known, and yet somehow, she felt she should have. It seemed obvious in hindsight—the lack of affection, the out-of-place stiffness when they were together in public or with his family. In the early months of their marriage, he'd made an effort to hold her a little tighter, a little closer, but it was necessary at the time. They'd needed to give the illusion that they were so deeply in love that they'd gotten engaged without a proper courtship and were so desperate to marry a mere few months later. With every month of their marriage they grew closer as a pair, but not as a couple; they grew to know each other better, and developed the fondness he spoke of, but nothing romantic had ever come of it. It only made sense if he didn't want a woman.
It was still difficult to process: Ari, her Ari, wanting to hold a man's hand, wanting to kiss or touch or whatever he'd dreamed of doing with this "him". He seemed like the perfect man to be married to a softer, more delicate woman who needed reassurance and affection. She couldn't imagine him cradling some stone-faced Ministry official, or even a burly quidditch player. And yet—it was who he was. What he wanted. Just as she yearned for love and affection, he did the same, only his dreams were much farther out of reach.
Still, she didn't think he would voice it aloud. Her eyes widened as the words divorce came up, and every word after that seemed muffled as tears began to well up in her eyes. As much as she hated the prospect of being an unloved wife, being a divorced woman—a divorced, poor woman, with one child that was legally Ari's and bore his name, and no family to take her in—was far scarier. Terrifying. It was only a step-up from being an unwed mother, and that was the life she'd been trying to escape when she'd married Ari.
It was not that that made her heart give, however, but what came next. The admission of fondness, of love, and the unmistakable remorse in his voice as he spoke. Tears began to drip down her cheeks, and her hands fell to her sides. Though she knew he was not giving her one, every word that left his lips felt like an ultimatum—and, it seemed, he was expecting the worst.
"What would Elliott do without his Papa?" she sniffled through her tears. What would become of him as the son of a failed marriage? She'd long decided that her son would never know his true origins, if only to provide him with the normal life he deserved. Not only would it be impossible to manage the facade without the image of a happy household, but she would have to make the choice to either raise her son as a single mother or leave him with Ari. Neither were ideal.
"If my life were different, and you were any other man, I would go," she admitted, struggling to keep an even tone as the tears continued to fall. "But I have no family that claims me. You are my family." The Fisks had been her family since her Hogwarts days, when she and Zelda would share a room during the summers between school. "I can't leave. I won't. I'm lonely, but I'm much happier being lonely with you than I would be elsewhere." She had always been lonely, she supposed. A lonely child, with a family who would rather see her dead than a witch. A lonely mediwitch, living with a roommate in Pennyworth who she never saw. And now a lonely wife, with a husband who wished to be with someone else. What reason did she have to think she would be less lonely elsewhere?
It was still difficult to process: Ari, her Ari, wanting to hold a man's hand, wanting to kiss or touch or whatever he'd dreamed of doing with this "him". He seemed like the perfect man to be married to a softer, more delicate woman who needed reassurance and affection. She couldn't imagine him cradling some stone-faced Ministry official, or even a burly quidditch player. And yet—it was who he was. What he wanted. Just as she yearned for love and affection, he did the same, only his dreams were much farther out of reach.
Still, she didn't think he would voice it aloud. Her eyes widened as the words divorce came up, and every word after that seemed muffled as tears began to well up in her eyes. As much as she hated the prospect of being an unloved wife, being a divorced woman—a divorced, poor woman, with one child that was legally Ari's and bore his name, and no family to take her in—was far scarier. Terrifying. It was only a step-up from being an unwed mother, and that was the life she'd been trying to escape when she'd married Ari.
It was not that that made her heart give, however, but what came next. The admission of fondness, of love, and the unmistakable remorse in his voice as he spoke. Tears began to drip down her cheeks, and her hands fell to her sides. Though she knew he was not giving her one, every word that left his lips felt like an ultimatum—and, it seemed, he was expecting the worst.
"What would Elliott do without his Papa?" she sniffled through her tears. What would become of him as the son of a failed marriage? She'd long decided that her son would never know his true origins, if only to provide him with the normal life he deserved. Not only would it be impossible to manage the facade without the image of a happy household, but she would have to make the choice to either raise her son as a single mother or leave him with Ari. Neither were ideal.
"If my life were different, and you were any other man, I would go," she admitted, struggling to keep an even tone as the tears continued to fall. "But I have no family that claims me. You are my family." The Fisks had been her family since her Hogwarts days, when she and Zelda would share a room during the summers between school. "I can't leave. I won't. I'm lonely, but I'm much happier being lonely with you than I would be elsewhere." She had always been lonely, she supposed. A lonely child, with a family who would rather see her dead than a witch. A lonely mediwitch, living with a roommate in Pennyworth who she never saw. And now a lonely wife, with a husband who wished to be with someone else. What reason did she have to think she would be less lonely elsewhere?
