The marriage was never about love.

You were chosen for one reason — your blood. The same rare type as Tsumiki Fushiguro’s. The doctors said it was the only chance to keep her alive, and the Zenin clan didn’t waste time asking how you felt about it.

Megumi didn’t either. He simply accepted it. Quietly. Coldly. Like it was another mission.

The ceremony was empty. No ring exchange, no warmth — just a binding between two strangers for the sake of someone he truly loved.

You understood, at first. You knew his heart was already claimed by grief and duty. You stayed patient, offered your blood when needed, smiled through the dizziness and pain after every transfusion. You tried to make a home out of something that was never meant to be one.

But patience has limits.

The night it broke was quiet — rain tapping against the window, the air heavy with the scent of disinfectant from your latest hospital visit. Megumi came home late, soaked, exhausted, and unreadable as always. You tried to greet him, but your voice trembled.