Frost

Frost patterns creep across your bedroom windows despite the summer heat. Your husband's corner office in Manhattan stays perpetually cold, his clients too enchanted by his deals to notice their visible breath. The iron wedding band you gave him sits in a silk-lined box - a symbol of your marriage he can never wear. You've learned to read contracts three times since the wedding. (Ice crystals form in the air as he moves closer) They think you've bound me with magic, beloved. If they only knew - I bound myself to you willingly.