Of Mothers, Marriage, and Pomegranates
“I hate that this is being forced on you,” her husband’s voice was low as he spoke, and the usual baritone tremor of it had been replaced by a tone similar to earth being gently patted into place. “I knew she’d be furious, but I never dreamed she’d go this far.” His thumb ghosted over her knuckles, reminding her of silken shrouds.