Someday I'll tell you all of it," I say. "I'd like that," he says. "No," I say. "I promise you won't.

It isn’t a perfect place. There are no perfect places. But nobody cares about perfection when there are sand castles to build and kites to chase, children that are being born, old hearts that are giving in.

I nod like I'm not at all unnerved by this new cold side to him. Not cruel like his father. Not warm like the husband who sought me out on quiet nights. Something in between. This Linden has never woven his fingers through mine, never chosen me from a line of weary Gathered girls, never said he loved me in a myriad of coloured lights. We are nothing to each other.

None of the wives mention the security guards by the door, who will probably tackle us to the ground if we try to leave without our husbands.

You've been captive for so long that you don't even realize you want freedom anymore.

I wanted to be rid of him," he says. He raises my chin with his thumb. "But not if it meant being rid of you. I climbed in beside you, and you put your head in my lap. You can't think I would have left you like that." "Look what it got you," I say. "Tea in bed and you here in front of me," he says. "It was a terrible decision, and I confess I'd make it again.

No matter how lonely it makes me, and no matter how wide and horrific the loneliness, at least I remember who I am.