The Story’s End

I've been married to Vincent Leech for almost a year, and he has never touched me.

Every morning, before he leaves for work, I knot his tie for him. Then I move behind him, slipping his suit jacket gently onto his broad shoulders. He always turns then, leans in close, and presses a deep, tender kiss onto my eyes.

That is the only physical contact we ever have.

Our marriage is a transaction.

I love his money.

He loves my eyes.

1

Every day, I visit a boy named Liam at a long-term care facility.

He lies in bed day after day, unconscious, breathing through a ventilator. Its the best facility in the northern part of the city, and the costs are astronomical. Every month, without fail, Vincent transfers the exact amount needed.

Liam is my boyfriend.

We grew up together in an orphanage. In the eyes of the world, we shared a single name: abandoned. He was tall and strong but was born with a limp in one leg. I was born with large, beautiful eyes, but a rare, incurable disease left my gaze vacant and unfocused.

When we came of age, we left the orphanage together. With little education and our respective disabilities, finding work was a constant struggle. But Liam was always full of ideas. He bought a second-hand food cart and taught himself how to make crepes.

Every night after we closed up, he would hunch over the rickety little table in our rented room, carefully tallying the day's earnings. Liams greatest wish, he always said, was to save enough money to fix my eyes.

One night, his phone rang. He didn't even bother wiping the grease from his hands before scooping me up and spinning me around.

"Nora, I have amazing news!"

"They found a cornea match for you! It's finally time!"

"Your eyes, Nora! They can be saved!"

It had started to snow.

On that freezing winter night, the steam hissed from the crepe griddle on the deserted street. Two young people, laughing and jumping, finally fell into each other's arms, holding on tight as the snow fell all around us.

That night, Liam calculated the cost of the surgery. He said that after my eyes were healed, he would work even harder to give me a proper wedding.

But the wedding never came. Only a nightmare.

It was Liam's birthday. I begged him to take the day off, but he refused. My surgery had cost a fortune, and the next six months of rent were due.

Before he left that morning, Liam kissed my forehead hard. "Nora, I'll close up early today. Wait for me!"

He never came back.

He was in a car accident on his way home.

At the hospital, seeing him hooked up to a tangle of tubes, kept alive only by a machine, my heart shattered. The doctors told me to let him go.

I stroked his hand, tears streaming down my face. He was only twenty-two. His hands were chapped and covered in pale yellow calluses. The constant steam from the griddle had made his eyelashes sparse and brittle. His thick lips were pale and perpetually cracked.

I never got to be his wife.

I never got to see the world with him.

How could I just give up on him?

Clutching a stack of overdue medical bills, I collapsed in the busy hospital corridor, sobbing. He had given every penny he had to heal my eyes. And now, I was supposed to sign a form that would end his life.

A pair of expensive leather shoes appeared in my blurry vision.

I looked up, my tear-filled gaze traveling up a pair of perfectly tailored trousers.

A pair of obsidian eyes, shining and full of a startling tenderness, stared down at me.

He leaned in.

"Nora Blake. My name is Vincent Leech."

"I want you. Marry me, and I will give you anything you desire."

2

Our marriage was met with fierce opposition from Vincent's mother. She believed that a family of their stature should be joined with a socialite of equal standing, not some no-name girl from an orphanage. In the end, Vincent threatened to take his own life, and she reluctantly agreed.

At the wedding, the officiant asked loudly, "Mr. Leech, do you take this woman, Nora Blake, to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Vincent was silent.

The entire venue fell quiet.

After a long moment, he finally spoke. "I believe you've made a mistake. The woman I am marrying is Miss Seraphina Vance."

A wave of murmurs swept through the guests. They were probably remarking on Vincents undying love for his old flame. And, perhaps, pitying me, the stand-in.

The officiant gave an awkward laugh and glanced at me, as if asking for permission. Before I could speak, Vincent's cold stare bore into him, and the officiant's voice trembled as he corrected himself.

"Mr. Leech, do you... do you take Miss Seraphina Vance to be your wife?"

Vincent's lips were a tight line, his throat working. Then he lifted his head, his bright eyes already brimming with tears. He looked deeply into my eyes and said, each word deliberate and heavy, "I do."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an elderly couple in the front row, wiping away tears. They must have been Seraphina's parents.

Seraphina Vance was Vincent's one true love, the center of his universe. She had died of a heart condition the night before their wedding. Her final wish was to donate her corneas.

Vincent had moved heaven and earth to find the recipient.

The first time we met in that hospital corridor, he said he wanted me. How could he? We were strangers. He didn't want me. He just wanted what was inside my eyes.

It was the only living piece of his beloved Seraphina left in this world.

He wanted to see it every day. To kiss it.

Our marriage is a transaction.

I love his money.

He loves my eyes.

3

Every morning, before he leaves for work, I knot his tie and slip his jacket over his shoulders. And every morning, he turns and presses a deep, tender kiss onto my eyes.

I thought that was all it would take. Let him kiss my eyes every day, and in return, I would get the money to keep Liam alive.

I was so naive.

After we were married, he forced me to wear backless dresses, to eat steak, to drink my coffee with sugar every morning. All things that Seraphina had loved.

Worst of all, he made me learn the piano. He wanted me to play his favorite English songs for him. I had never touched an instrument in my life; I couldn't learn that fast. Because my progress was too slow, he accused me of not trying hard enough and forbade me from visiting Liam.

At the dinner table, I threw my spoon down in a rage.

His voice was like a whip crack. "Quite the temper! Seraphina was never like this!"

"Pick it up!"

Seraphina again!

My face was a cold mask. I sat there, unmoving, my back ramrod straight as hot tears streamed down my face.

He walked over, his jaw tight. He patted my tear-stained cheek and hissed, "Don't you regret this, Nora."

Ten minutes later, I got a call from the care facility. Liam's condition had worsened. They had stopped his imported medication, and he was having an allergic reaction to the new one.

I knew someone had pulled strings.

I fell to my knees, sobbing, calling Vincent over and over. He rejected every call.

The most dangerous thing in the world is to have a weakness. It makes you do things you never thought you would. Vincent had Seraphina. I had Liam. We were both prisoners of the ones we loved.

After that, I never dared to throw a tantrum in front of him again.

I practiced the piano relentlessly, my ten fingers blistering and bleeding until the keys were stained red.

As the sun set, he would recline on the sofa, hands behind his head, a look of satisfaction on his face. When I finished a song, he would slowly emerge from his distant memories and return to me.

He grabbed my wrist. His gaze swept over my bandaged, blood-stained fingers. "Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

For a second, I thought he actually cared. I was about to say yes, but then I looked up and met his eyes. I saw the shimmering love in them, a love that was not for me.

I forced a faint smile. "No. As long as you like it, it doesn't hurt."