Total pages in book: 8
Estimated words: 6777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 34(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 23(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 6777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 34(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 23(@300wpm)
No one here knew us as father and daughter. We were simply Malachi and Polly Hawthorne, husband and wife.
Our wedding was a small, intimate affair under a vast blue sky, witnessed only by a local justice of the peace and the whispering pines.
Life had settled into a rhythm of contentment, far removed from the furtive thrills of our past. We worked the land together, our hands intertwined in chores.
We planted seeds in the spring for our small garden, and harvested the bountiful crops under the summer sun. And we prepared for winter with stacks of firewood and preserved goods.
The taboo that once fueled our fire had evolved into a profound, unwavering love, unmarred by external judgment or internal doubt.
We built a life free from shadows, where laughter echoed in the kitchen over shared meals, and evenings were spent on the porch, watching sunsets paint the sky.
Neighbors were friendly but respectful of our privacy, inviting us to barbecues without prying into our past.
We’d found peace here, a happily ever after that wasn’t scripted in fairy tales but forged in the fires of real life.
We knew society would never accept our love, and that was okay. This life was for us.
One sunset, as we sat on the porch swing, the air crisp with the promise of fall, Malachi turned to me, his arm around my shoulders. “How happy are you, Polly girl?”
I leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “More than I could ever put into words.” And that was the truth. “We’ve come so far.”
We had, and our story wasn’t over yet. We had a lot more to write.
Our romance wasn’t conventional. It was forbidden, but it was ours.
And fuck anyone else who thought differently.