We meet in words | Draco Malfoy

13.

Isabella

Isabella observed the night's silence through the small window in her small room. It was so quiet that it felt both peaceful and dull.

She stroked the leather of the bound journal that sat on her lap, looking down.

That journal was the only thing keeping her going these days.

It belonged to her grandmother.

The first time Isabella was punished, she was barred from leaving the house for the entire weekend.

She was not even allowed to leave her room.

But she couldn't stay in there all day because she was afraid of losing her mind. So she did what needed to be done.

She was able to slip out of the room.

And she discovered a small library in the mansion. She coughed as she walked in due to the amount of dust in the area.

The place was lovely, with book after book piled high.

Isabella was wandering around when she came across a shelf filled with journals containing her grandmother's words.

Her grandmother's life was tragic.

Isabella held a special place in her heart for it. It gave her the impression that she was close to someone. Despite the fact that her grandmother had died, she was close to some kind of family.

She continued reading by opening the seventh journal in the 'series.'

5th of July, 1975

He struck me once more. I'm not sure I understand. Why does he cause me pain if he loves me?

I thought we'd moved on from that.

The deception.

He cheated and laughed in my face for so long that tears streamed down my cheeks.

He finally let me in. He came to an end with the other girl. He allowed me to love him, and I was finally worthy of his affection.

The joy I felt was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. But it was only temporary.

Even though he started holding me while we slept, I still cried. He was no longer in another room or on the other side of the bed. He wrapped his arm around my waist, drew me closer, and nestled his head in the crook of my neck.

He kissed my jawline, whispered "sweet dreams." and fell asleep.

Every night, I dreamed of that exact scene countless times.

Why was I still in tears?

And now he's harmed me. I am certain that the emotional scar left on my heart will never completely heal. But I hoped that his love for me would cover that scar, bury it deep enough that it would never bother me, never nag me.

His hands imprinted themselves on my soft skin, raising the skin they slapped. They stung it so easily that it revealed how weak of a wife he had.

It's no surprise that he returned to another woman's bed.

My feelings for him were insufficient. My sobs were insufficient. I was insufficient.

I am insufficient.

And how am I going to tell him? How will I inform him that I am unable to bear his children?