At 65, I Remarried My First Love — But On Our Wedding Night, What I Found Broke My Heart (3 of 4)

Long, deep, discolored marks across her back. Not a few. Dozens. Some looked old. Others… fresher.

She froze. I did too.

I reached out and touched one, gently. She flinched.

“What happened, Em?” I asked.

She turned away, silent for a moment, before whispering something I’ll never forget.

“My husband… he wasn’t kind.”

I stood there, heart pounding, trying to process what she’d just said.

She’d been hiding this pain. For years. Decades. Behind her smile. Her kindness. Her gentle way of making everyone feel at home.

She never told her kids. Never told anyone.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” she said. “I thought maybe if I just stayed quiet, things would stop. But they didn’t.”

We sat there, side by side on the edge of the bed, her in her slip, me in stunned silence, holding her hand like it might shatter.