The Ties That Bind

Emma’s p.o.v.

I continued my walk at "the plateau," the place where Daniel and I had spent countless hours together. As I wandered through the secluded green area of our old high school, memories flooded back, each step bringing a new wave of nostalgia.

Daniel had proposed to me during one of the hardest times in his life. His father was suffering from a terminal brain tumor, lying on his deathbed, and his stepmother was relentlessly pursuing his inheritance. When Daniel asked me to marry him, I didn’t think it through. I thought the best way to ease his mind was to say yes. So I did.

My parents were grateful to Daniel for bringing me back to life after my trauma, but they had their reservations about our relationship. They believed we were mismatched. I was content with a simple life, while Daniel always aspired for more. My mother tried to object, but when she saw the tears in my eyes, she didn’t persist.

Our wedding was beautiful, held at a luxurious venue with a stunning view of the Bosphorus. It was like a fairytale, and everyone was envious. But Daniel got drunk and ended up suffering from severe stomach problems the next day. It was a small glimpse into the complexities of our relationship.

We went to the Maldives for our honeymoon, and it was the best holiday I had ever had. My parents were conservative, so despite my intimacy with Daniel during our six-year-long dating history, I always felt restrained. Being married felt just right at the time, a liberation from the constraints I had always felt. We spent hours alone in our hotel room, whispering sweet nothings and telling each other how right everything felt.

Right after the honeymoon, I learned I was pregnant. I was 27, and Daniel was 29. We were inexperienced but excited. Those were the days when everything seemed possible, and the future was bright.

During my early days as a trainee at the hospital, I was wrongly accused of damaging a patient who needed ICU care. The accusation devastated me, but Daniel, using his connections, found proof of the injustice. He confronted the hospital’s head and managed to get the colleague who falsely accused me suspended. It was a moment that strengthened my trust in him, making me feel even more secure in our relationship.

I remembered another gesture from that time: Daniel had hired a boat for my family and him to have dinner together and celebrate my mother’s birthday. It was a grand affair, and he made sure to go above and beyond to win my mother’s approval. He wanted to erase any lingering suspicions she might have had about him. That night, as we dined on the water with the city lights reflecting in the waves, I felt like I was living in a dream. It was a night of romance and promises, where Daniel seemed to be everything I had ever wanted.

Thinking about it now, I realize how much has changed. Daniel was the perfect person who filled a gap in my life back then, making me feel complete. But now, as I walk alone, I can’t help but wonder if those feelings were real or just a way to fill the void left by my past trauma. The questions linger, and the answers seem more elusive than ever.

I remembered how Daniel used to be—persistent, caring, understanding. He had been my rock through the darkest times of my life, but now his behavior felt inconsistent, as if he only reverted to the perfect boyfriend during crises. The boat ride, the honeymoon, the way he made me feel cherished—it all seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the present reality.

I sighed deeply, the cool breeze of the plateau brushing against my face. I needed to confront my feelings and understand the changes in our relationship. Could our relationship survive this crisis, or was it already too late?

As I stood at the edge of the plateau, looking out over the city below, I felt a pang of sadness. Daniel had been the person who filled a gap in my life, making me feel whole and loved. Now, I faced the harsh truth that those feelings might have been just a way to escape my past rather than a foundation for a lasting relationship. The plateau was where we had shared our dreams, but now it felt like a place of reckoning, a place where I had to confront the reality of our love and what it had become.