They should have never gotten married.
She should have saw it- that it was a mistake, a sham, a halfcocked attempt at happiness- but she wanted it to be over. She wanted the war to be over, she wanted to grow old and have children- she wanted to do all that with Ron.
She just wanted to be happy.
She had even stayed in the hell hole known as Britain for him, so sure that he was the one- expecting some sort of magical happy ever after on her wedding night, a smile, a kiss, something.
What she got was a drunken fiancé talking to Lavender Brown- a begging, crying Lavender Brown screaming, stay with me. He consoled her, told her how beautiful she was, how absolutely lovely- Hermione heard his sweat murmurs and soft, choking sobs and in that moment she knew that he cared for Lavender more than he could ever care for her.
It was only as she walked down the aisle that she remembered that Lavender was dead, and Ron was drunk and forgot. (To be fair, sometimes, she forgets too.)
Hermione wasn't even sure if Ron really loved Lavender or not, he may just feel guilty for how he treated her before her death. Their relationship had been short, very short, and sweet, and their breakup had been the same albeit less sweet for Lavender. Maybe that's what Ron wanted, something simple and sweet, now that the war was over.
Hermione is neither of those things.
Now as she lies in her bed beside a sleeping Ron she thinks back to her ex-roommate.
She still remembers how they found her body; her stomach had been mulled and ripped apart by Greyback, but she had still been stunning. So beautiful even covered in ugly things and her own blood, eyes opened wide and hair lay around her pale face like a dirty halo. When they had found her Ron had emptied her stomach, Hermione had pulled him away from the sight. The battle resumed.
They should have never gotten married.