Chapter 4: Secrets, Shame, and Second Chances

But I had a secret quirk no one knew about.

Some secrets are just too heavy. It was the kind of thing you never said out loud, not even to your closest friends. I kept it locked away, a secret shame I carried everywhere.

Ever since I hit puberty, I’d grown restless at night, burning with desire.

Hot, restless, impossible to ignore. The feeling was like a fever, creeping up on me in the dark. I’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, skin prickling with need I couldn’t name.

Whenever I saw a strong, handsome man, I couldn’t help but stare a little longer.

It was a weakness, one I tried to hide. I’d catch myself watching the boys at the gym, the men hauling lumber at the hardware store, and I’d quickly look away, cheeks flaming.

No second chances. But the unwritten rules in this town were strict, especially for women. If a bride wasn’t a virgin on her wedding night, she’d be shamed in front of everyone.

Tormented by longing, I recited prayers day and night, hoping to suppress my urges with willpower.

I’d kneel by my bed, hands clasped tight, whispering desperate prayers for strength. Sometimes I’d light a candle at church, hoping the flickering flame would burn away my guilt.

My family looked everywhere for answers, but nothing worked. All they could do was teach me how to act proper and keep me home, year after year.

None of it worked. Mom tried everything—herbal teas, strict curfews, endless lectures about virtue. I learned to smile and nod, to play the part of the perfect daughter, even as my insides twisted with longing.

So when that skinny, awkward boy came to propose, I turned him down flat.

He was sweet, but I couldn’t picture a life with him. I wanted passion, adventure—not a safe, predictable future. I broke his heart. And mine a little too.

He seemed so stiff—how could he ever please a woman?

He barely met my eyes, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. I thought he’d never be able to handle a girl like me, someone who burned too hot, wanted too much. Guess I was wrong.

But now, looking at him, a fire sparked in my chest.

He was all grown up—strong, confident, nothing like the boy I remembered. I felt something shift inside me, a hunger I’d tried so hard to bury.

Before I left, Dad gave me a wad of cash—all his secret savings—so I could start fresh with my head high.

He pressed the bills into my hand, voice low and rough. “For your new life, honey. Don’t let anyone say you weren’t taken care of.” I hugged him tight, the money crinkling between us. For a second, neither of us could speak.

But when I tried to give it to Eli, he refused without hesitation.

He pushed the envelope back, shaking his head. “That’s not how we do things here. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” There was a stubborn pride in his eyes, the kind you can’t argue with. He meant every word.

“I provide for my wife. How could I take your money?”

His words were old-fashioned, but there was something comforting about them. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe.

He made sense, so I didn’t push it. Since it was just for show, I wanted to keep things simple.

I tucked the money away, making a mental note to use it only if things got desperate. For now, I’d let him have his way.