Merope had spent the entire journey home dreading writing the letter, yet the moment she was around parchment, the thoughts practically spilled out of her.

In the midst of her excitement, she had to hesitate. As much as she wanted to detail every joyous emotion she'd been feeling for the few hours she'd married Tom, she knew she could not. Marvolo would not enjoy her happiness and would try to squish it.

Now, panic began to rise in her chest. Should she even write the letter at all? What if Marvolo came after her? She'd worked so hard to build this fantasy, she could not watch it crumble.

Eventually, she calmed herself. If he didn't know what she'd done, Marvolo would definitely go after her. Knowing that she was in a relationship with a Muggle, he would likely decide to never utter her name again, much less try and find her.

Merope began to write, explaining the story in full detail, her grip tightened. She didn't want to mention love potion she'd used on him...well, Marvolo didn't need to know that. She would just write that she and Tom fell madly in love. That was how it happened, right?

"Something wrong?"

She looked up. Tom was standing over her shoulder. For a second, she jumped into a defensive stance, but Tom would not hurt her. He was just running his fingers through her hair.

"Nothing," she replied. "I'm just...writing something."

"You shouldn't be worried, love. We're going to live together, after all."

Merope grinned at the thought. She and Tom were going to leave their homes behind and live in London. She could have never dreamed of affording it, but Tom had enough money. She was sure he wouldn't mind having to leave his family behind.

She finally finished the letter. She could already predict the disgust Marvolo would feel upon reading her words. He would be so ashamed of her. But she had nothing to be ashamed of.

Merope finally stood up, brushing away any apprehension she felt.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

They kissed again and all her worries were wiped away.

The house wasn't in the greatest condition, but it was decent enough. A bed that wasn't crawling with dirt and bugs, floor boards that weren't creaking the moment they felt any pressure. The pots and pans that wouldn't earn her a beating when they were dropped.

Oh goodness. This was it. This was her new home. She was never going back to Marvolo or Morfin again. She was completely free.

She stood there, rooted to the spot as burning water flooded her eyes. She ran her hands across her arms, feeling the bumps and scars that would never be added onto.

This was her new life. And she wouldn't give it away for anything.

The next day, Merope was frightened of getting out of bed. Surely what was happening was nothing more than a dream. She didn't want it to end. She never wanted it to end.

Then she heard a soft groan. There was someone beside her. It was Tom. Her husband. She was married. She was a witch. She had powerful and love and bliss.

The perfect dream went on, getting better with each day. It was rather idyllic, but she loved the routine so much, she didn't mind repeating it again and again.

She and Tom would wake up, he would declare his love for her each morning, she would cook and clean of her own free will, she would cast spells and brew potions without fear of anyone screaming down on her.

And of course, the most important part. Every morning, she would serve him breakfast and a glass of water bubbling with a love potion. It was somewhat of a tradition, since it was a glass of water that brought them together.

How romantic.

Merope prepared herself for the morning, mentally listing all the tasks she needed to get done today, when she stopped.

It was so peaceful in here. The outside world was brutal and cold, but she and Tom had no need of it. They could remain in this safe haven together for the rest of their lives if they so desired

And Merope planned to keep it that way.

The fumes of the love potion were familiar to her now as she prepared the cup. She placed it on the tray along with breakfast.

"Tom, time to eat!" she announced as she entered the room. Immediately, she froze. The table was deserted.

"Tom?" she called. She'd been in a mellow state for so long that the rush of panic she'd felt daily once before was unfamiliar. "Tom!" The edges of her vision seemed to be darkening. Where was he? He was supposed to be right here, obediently awaiting her. She hadn't been able to give him the potion in awhile…

"TOM!" she screamed. She frantically dropped the tray and heard more shouting in her mind. She scooped the potion up and scrambled to search the house.

Where was he? Where was he? What if he'd already left? Surely it couldn't have completely worn out by now. There had to still be a little bit. Where was Tom?

Veins popping, she stumbled out into the backyard and saw Tom leaning beside a faded tree.

Relief flooded through her, but she still demanded, "What are you doing?"

"I was just going for a walk," he replied half heartedly.

Going for a walk? Going for a walk? Her chest was rattling as she snapped, "Why?" She hoped the fury in her voice would disguise the fear. Since when did Tom go on walks without her? Since when did he not obsessively stay by her side?

"Yes, what's the problem?"

"It...it…" She sighed, clutching her stomach. He was still here. It was alright. "Nothing, my apologies. Just...have a glass of water."

"Oh, it's alright. I had a glass of milk this morning."

Since when did he eat without her?

"Well, that's sweet and all, but you should really drink your water."

"I don't need it," he insisted. "Why are you-" He paused. As if he had been drowning, and was now breaking the surface. His eyes flooded with awareness.

Oh no.

"Drink the water Tom," she urged, her hand rattling.

He wasn't looking at her but instead staring at the area with observation and...and…

He won't love me anymore.

Merope couldn't bear to even consider the possibility. Desperation tugged her muscles forward and she lunged, practically forcing the water down Tom's throat.

She was heaving as she faced him, pleading that if had worked…

Tom looked up at her and concern spread over his face. "Merope, are you alright?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I am now."

But she hadn't forgotten. That had been too close. It was happening much more frequently now. Tom's eyes would narrow with suspicion and she would frantically give him whatever she could. Then she would watch his expression do change to one of love. Fake love.

She found herself attempting to brew Amortentia, only to scream and tear her hair out. She was being crushed underneath something and she couldn't push it off. Something kept gnawing at her and she didn't know what

How was she supposed to solve this if she didn't even know why she was upset?

But as she struggled to get her aching hands to brew the potion she'd practically memorized at this point, she finally knew what was slowly destroying her.

It was guilt.