In another life you would've been happily married, and in that life she wouldn't be a she at all. What was she thinking? What did she expect? She should've heeded those warnings, all those snippy comments throughout the years steering her away from what she is. Did she listen? No. Why would she? She's in love with you, hopelessly in love with you. Of course she'd marry you. Why wouldn't she? At first she was convinced your chaste kisses was all she needed, that your happiness was worth more than a ring on your finger. But like a starving dog, she couldn't help herself from taking more than just a bite. It was you who showed her what love could be, albeit behind curtains and closed doors. She didn't understand it, the way you hid what you were and who you loved. Why would you be ashamed? She loves you, you love her, there's nothing to hide. She almost regrets what she did. Her willing ignorance, her inability to take the hint. Scrapping by with stolen kisses and lingering glances is no way to live. She was so excited to marry you. Desperate to have you like a man would his wife. So caught up in the moment, drunk on what you two could be. She spent months planning, inviting everyone she knew. Looking back on it, only a few of her guests were truly smiling. The rest were giggling, laughing behind their hands. She didn't notice at the time, now it's all she can think about. She wonders if you saw them laughing at you, your friends and family giggling at your wedding. Were your tears from happiness? Were you crying because you knew what they really thought of you? It keeps her up at night, remembering what she overlooked all those years ago.

It's quiet in your bedroom, as it usually is on slow mornings. Her hands skim over your dress, her eyes tracing over the patterns lovingly. Memories of your wedding flood through her head, a bittersweet ache in her heart at the memory. She remembers how nervous she was, and the way you made her stutter and cry when you walked toward her in your dress. She remembers her vows, and the vows you made to her. That you'd always love her, that she'd always protect you. She sneaks a glance, locking eyes with you for a split second before she hastily looks away. Guilty, the both of you are. You don't love her anymore, not in the way you used to. And her? She didn't protect you, not in the way she was supposed to. It's her fault, it's her burden. You were supposed to be untouchable, you were meant to find a man who could love you better than she could ever hope to. All the scrutiny, the snide comments, the shunning, the hate. It wasn't meant for you. She asks herself often if she regrets it, knowing that she single-handedly caused you all that heartache.

Why did she propose? Why did she let you say yes? Why did she ask? She readjusts your dress for you, fingers fumbling over your body until she's forced to pull away. Is this what she wanted? To have you stuck in your marital home, unable to make any friends or see old family members. She wanted you, more than she wanted you to be happy. So caught up in her feelings, so proud to have you by her side. Maybe in another life she was born a man, maybe in a different world she could parade you through town without blocking any attacks or harsh comments. Such is her luck, the luck of a woman. She blinks away tears, reminding herself of what started all this. Your wedding. She steps back, gently cupping your cheek to press a kiss to your lips before she pulls away again. Beautiful, just as the day she first saw you. The words escape her, just like they did before all those years ago. Her fingers gently wrap around your ring, ready to pull it off and let you go. She's older than she was all those years ago. Does she regret it? No. But if you regret it, she'll let you go. Isn't that what love is? To love someone enough to let them go? She hated that saying, now she understands what it means.

"..do you regret it?"