chapter 1

Louis had only been married to Abigail for six months when he was stolen from her side by unforeseen, tragic circumstances. The two had been casual lovers at the start of university, then dedicated partners for the following six years, and now were united by legalities and wedded bliss.

One month into their marriage, Louis had received the call that his uncle, and only remaining family, had died. Though the two men had never been particularly loving or close, they were bound by blood, and that familial bond extended to obligation after his sudden death, leaving Louis to tend to the probate. Louis had already been between jobs, but Abigail was firmly locked into a contract in her first-ever office job since they'd met seven years ago. For that reason, when Louis had had to leave London to go to his uncle's farm, she'd been unable to follow.

The two lovers had spoken every day on the phone, Abigail telling Louis of the monotony of office life, and him sharing his boredom of the countryside with her. The whole time they'd been apart, he'd not been able to get the image of his wife out of his head, nor shake the sadness that they had spent so long apart so soon into their marriage. As Louis stepped out from the doors of Catford Station, he practically started running towards their home—part from excitement, and a larger part from anxiety.

At midday, she had texted to ask when he'd be home as there was something she needed to tell him. He'd not heard anything back from her since then, and couldn't shake the trepidation of what she'd meant. It was particularly out of character for her to be so elusive. With the sun setting behind him, Louis was ready to see what awaited him.

Like Abigail, Louis was not just slender but lean. The pair had always had active lives—whether that be social, job, or sexual. Both of them had spent their early twenties bustling about in bars, running back and forth between tables, and thriving on the energy of their patrons. No one could ever accuse them of being unfit or lazy. In some ways, Louis' time on the farm had done wonders for his work out routine, the fresh, country air refreshing in his lungs. He'd managed to double his usual two-mile run and was returning to London with a new definition to his already slender torso.

Louis turned his keys in the lock, picturing the image of his wife in all of her dark, sensual glory. She'd always kept her hair long like black ribbon down her back. From the moment they'd met, Louis had been in love with the twinkle in her dark, elfin eyes, a certain shine promising both an earnest kindness and cheeky mirth. Though not particularly tall, Abigail's frame was elongated by her slenderness, her body a statue of soft curves and tight muscles.

The flat's corridor was dark, dust dancing in the air illuminated by the setting sun. Silence filled the room, almost eerie in its utterness. Louis frowned, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Was she out? Had she not seen his text?

Louis ventured further into the flat, checking the kitchen first. The closed blinds left the room in a state of shadow, empty and derelict. Louis placed his bags by the counter, not noticing the open bin lid and nearly overflowing bin bag, walking towards the front room door. His fingers played with the string of the gift bag in his hand, nervously trailing it over and over again. He was by no means an anxious person usually, but love can entice the most out of character emotions. And for Abigail, Louis was deeply anxious. Anxious of her unhappiness or pain. If she hurt, he hurt, too, because her solace was all that could grant his.

Large, bay windows acted as an aisle for dusk's art, the room ignited in golden light where it sliced through the shadow. On the sofa, a figure curled underneath a woollen blanket, her face hidden by a hood. The fading sun illuminated the richness of Abigail's black hair where it tumbled from her hood, the only sign of life beneath layers of fabric.

Louis smiled to himself, not letting himself feel the pang of disappointment at such an anti-climactic greeting. Louis didn't let it bother him for too long, settling on smiling instead of frowning. He was just glad to be home, to see the woman he cherished after so many months of being alone. Louis was so caught up in watching Abigail's chest rise and fall with the deep breaths of sleep, and how the golden light of the sun painted crimson and copper highlights through obsidian hair, to even remember that she had said they needed to talk.