When Alexis was pushed into marrying Robert by her parents, she had no clue about the hidden secrets that awaited her. Breaking the one rule Robert had imposed on her, she discovered a heart-wrenching truth that left her in tears.

“You have to marry Robert, Alexis,” my mother insisted. “He’s wealthy and will provide for you. You won’t have to work anymore.”

Reluctantly, I agreed. My father’s words made it clear that I had no other option.

“Either marry Robert, Alexis,” he said, puffing on his cigar, “or fend for yourself.”

In a way, Robert was like my knight in shining armor. He came from a well-to-do family, while ours was struggling with a bakery that was losing customers due to the lack of gluten-free options.

But my father was stubborn. “We will continue baking what we know,” he insisted.

Our wedding was a grand affair, a display of Robert’s wealth. His wedding planner had left no stone unturned.

My wedding dress was a magnificent custom-made creation just for me. Yet, amidst all the preparations, Robert and I rarely spoke.

“It’ll be nice to be married,” he admitted one evening, a few days before the wedding. “But I have no idea what I’m doing.”

That was the closest he came to letting me in.

“Come, let me show you around,” Robert said one day.

He took me through our mansion, a place filled with opulence I had never imagined before — sprawling golf courses, a glistening swimming pool, and a staff at our beck and call.

“It’s beautiful,” I exclaimed, particularly when we reached the kitchen. “Everything is beautiful.”

“This house is now yours too, Alexis,” he said with a touch of pride.

I smiled at the stranger in front of me. Perhaps there was hope for our marriage after all.

“But there’s one rule, Alexis,” he added. “Never go into the attic.”

A few days later, Robert had a meeting and left me alone in our enormous house.

Driven by insatiable curiosity, I found myself climbing the stairs to the forbidden attic. My heart raced with both fear and excitement. Time was against me.

“Just a quick peek,” I reassured myself.

Pushing the door open, I was overwhelmed with emotions. I sank to my knees, tears pouring down my face. I couldn’t explain why I was crying. Confusion and relief competed within me.

“How dare you come in here? Now I have to change the locks in my own home because my wife doesn’t respect my boundaries?” Robert’s face flushed with anger.

“I just want to understand,” I pleaded. “I want to know you, Robert.”

Gradually, his rage subsided, and he started to see me as a partner rather than an intruder in his world.

Robert led me to the living room.

“My father was a stern man, a soldier who believed in burying emotions,” he confessed. “These are the only things I have left from a time when I felt loved.”

Listening intently, my heart swelled as he spoke, his voice breaking with emotion.

In those vulnerable moments, I didn’t see the distant and cold man I had married, but a young boy desperately seeking love and acceptance. He simply didn’t know how to express it.

Through the birth of our daughter, Robert found healing. He found healing for himself and for our little girl.

We have since transformed the attic into my cozy reading nook, packed away all the reminders of Robert’s painful past.

Now, it is a space filled with warmth and love, a symbol of our journey together.