Husbands.

The blood rushed inside my skull, the sound of it like thunderous marching, with my knee throbbing in time. It should've been laughable. I couldn't really wrap my head around why I wasn't laughing and rolling my eyes at the whole idea. I never wanted to be a fucking husband. That shit was for straight people, for normal people, for boring people.

I hadn't known a single happily married couple, growing up. Marriages were fucking poison. But for all its faults and all its petty cruelties, Darrow had a way of making the impossible possible.

Funny thing was, it didn't even occur to me to question that I wanted them. That part was a given. But I couldn't really understand why they wanted me for something like this, with all my baggage and bullshit, already ruined for normal by the age of eight.

Letting out a wavering breath, I looked to Edgar, shamefully apologetic as I reached out to take his hand. He looked confused more than anything, and I couldn't help but feel guilty when I thought of how he grew up and why he wouldn't have thought it was much of a big deal.

"Yeah," I said, quiet and strangled, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. "Yeah, okay."