The only example of love Melody had prior to the insanity with Ben existed solely in books. Books that she snubbed as a teenager, books that she refused to believe were true. The knights never came for the damsels, she used to insist. Love wasn't a fairy tale; it was a cold and broken reality that ruined women and left them destitute. Melody didn't used to even want love. It wasn't tangible, or something that could be measured or understood. Love made people insane and act rashly.

And then, she fell in love with the rake Reuben Crouch.

And she loved him on her own for years. She buried her heartache deep within herself whilst he was in Canada, refused to acknowledge that what she felt for him could have been love. Infatuation, maybe. Lust, probably. Never love. A lover would never had allowed her letters to go unanswered, she forced herself to believe. A lover wouldn't abandon her as Ben had. And, still, Melody Finch was still willing to follow him into oblivion.

Melody Finch became Melody Crouch, and even then she remained hopeful that her love might one day be returned.

Nothing could've prepared her for the long desired admission.

No one could've told her how little she would believe in love when it finally came.

Gradually, she lowered herself to sit on the stairs, not trusting her legs to keep her standing. He seemed so sure, so confident, but the timing was so odd. Now that she had finally resolved herself to be the wife on the sidelines, to watch him experience happiness wherever else he found it, that was when the admission came. Hot, fat tears she didn't even know existed fell in streams down her cheeks. Ben loved her, or so he claimed. Why didn't she believe it?

"It's been a long two days, Ben," she said, her voice shaking with the breakdown that was sure to come. "Tell me that when you've had time to think if you still mean it."