“Why are you fidgety? Don’t you know you are married couples now, and soon you two would share same bed and roof?” Salsa snapped to me once I dared to withdraw to the wall as Brian advanced forward to sign on the agreement papers.
Salsa’s words etched off every memory of what an ideal husband should look like and installed in me the belief that every husband was supposed to be insane; that I had no right to protest in this marriage.
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