Now Am I Worthy of Your Touch?

I married Jacob Thorne, a man who recoiled from human touch.

For three years, he never once touched me.

Then I saw him in a live stream, holding Celeste Monroe, the acclaimed pianist who was his first love. He was stroking her hair.

So it was not an illness. He was simply allergic to me.

When the earthquake hit, he shielded Celeste and rushed for the door, leaving me behind.

My right hand was fractured. He said coldly, "Her hands are for playing piano. Yours? Just tie it to a piece of wood."

I wiped my tears and pulled out the art box I hadn't opened in years.