Isabella

It was only a few days later that Isabella and Elain had sat down for a conversation over tea. She couldn't help but feel on edge, ready for her sister to shatter the perfect bubble she was currently living in.

Oliver had a cold and through all the endless crying and snotty nose Isabella had bonded with her husband. She had found the man she married again. Except their relationship didn't feel the same way as it normally did. Different but good. Allies even, especially when the elder Mr Mandray had made a snide comment about Oliver and Tomas had actually defended the boy.

Grandfather Mandray had unfortunately caught wind of Tomas' apparent weakness and an argument had ensued between the three males. It had left Isabella and Mrs Mandray to converse in the kitchen and the pair had taken turns stroking back Ollie's hair while making a chicken broth.

It had been nice, bonding with her mother in law once more. She had apologised for scaring Isabella, but had continued to stress her fears. And Isabella found herself not minding the thought of another child, of a large family.

But to have it with-

"Bells." Elains prompted, looking at her apprehensively and Isabella took a sip of tea while her sister smiled awkwardly at her. "How has Oliver been?"

"You know how he is. He's never been a good sick patient." Isabella rolled her eyes fondly and Elain smothered her giggles. "He's doing better already, Tomas took the day off to stay with him."

"That's... kind of him." Elain forces out, her smile waning and Isabella can't help but stiffen in fear. Though her own reaction has her pausing. When did she start fearing someone mentioning the man she loves? "How are things between the two of you?"

Her smile is fake when she replies, "Good, good. We've had a peaceful few days, poor Ollie aside. It's been... nice, a reminder of simpler times."

"Simpler times?" Elain prompts only to frown when Isabella waves her off.

"Without the Queens, and the Fae and Feyre. Not to mention the threat of war looming over our heads." Isabella grumbled, choosing that moment to sip her tea while Elain gnaws her lip. She wants to ask something. It couldn't be more obvious if she tried. Or maybe she is trying, trying to get Isabella to bring up Tomas first so Elain doesn't have to.

"Is everything alright Elain, you seem to be elsewhere." Isabella finally states because she refuses to lose a battle of wills over her husband when everything has been going so well.

"I-" Elain clears her throat and Isabella's teacup seems to clash louder than necessary back onto the saucer. "There are some rumours in the Village, Bells. Ones that the staff thought best to bring to my attention."

Isabella watches transfixed as Elain's throat bobs and it's only when her jaw ticks that she realises her sister is upset, angry. Please for the love of all things good in this world let it not be about her baby. Not her Oliver. Not her little Ollie.

"Tomas was seen sleeping with a girl,a- a prostitute of some kind."

Oh thank heavens.

Wait what.

"He was just with Oliver this morning, he bought flowers-"

"It's been going on for some time, Bells." Elain pleads, eyes watering. "I know you love him. That's why the staff told me and not Nesta, they were worried she'd be too gleeful and use it as an excuse to- to- oh, I don't know what but to do something to Tomas."

"Elain-"

"It's okay to be upset." She rushes out, practically lunging forward to grip Isabella's hands in her own. "I know you keep emotions bottled up sometimes and I can't imagine what this must be like for you. For Oliver. But-"

"You don't honestly think that I love him." Isabella whispers in horror. Sure she had kept up the facade and logically she knew that Elain thought it was love that brought the pair together but surely- "Surely you cannot be that naive, Elain. It was never love."

"What are you talking about?" She reels back, eyes darting nervously. "If this is some kind of attempt to distance yourself from the situation-"

"I didn't marry Tomas for love Elain. I married him for the cottage." Isabella states voice firm as her rage boils at the petulant pout on her little sister's face.

"But father said-"

"Grow up!" She screams and doesn't feel sorry when Elain flinches and pales. "I married Tomas so you wouldn't be thrown out onto the streets! And sure, we were an amiable enough match at the time. Father said he was a decent male who with time I could grow to love but I have never loved him Elain."

Her voice has gone dark, every word dripping with malice and disdain.

"I love my son." Her shin raises, refusing to bow to the threatening tears. "And I love my sisters. That is the love I married for."

When it becomes clear Elain has no response Isabella slowly rises to her feet.

"Tomas may have his dalliances, so long as he is home enough to put food on the table and keep a roof over our heads." It's an effort to keep herself from breaking, from letting her fears boil over.

If only out of pity for Elain, Isabella offers, "I'll see you Monday." Before striding from the room.

She doesn't know how long the walk takes to Mrs Cromwell's. Only that it was next on her list of visits. Isabella had already seen a few regulars in the village, offering tonics and salves to a few workers. Her favourite patient, George, was not at his usual stoop though.

It was funny how Isabella chose to focus on that. She knew she was avoiding the thought of Tomas. Of Tomas and some other woman. Why she has decided to care now is beyond her. It's easy enough to make the argument that she worried of being replaced. Except she knows Tomas has already spent enough time grinding her down into the perfect wife. He won't want to go through the breaking in process again.

No, Tomas would never kick her out. He needs her, if only to tend to the fire and his bed.

George had already told her of the affair weeks ago. He was a kind man, lost his money after an accident took out one of his legs. Not that he'll let her treat him. No, George just wants company. Like Mrs Cromwell.

Maybe she should set them up as companions.

The village would hate it of course, a widow and beggar. They'd have a field day. Though at what point in life have you seen enough, experienced enough that you just think fuck you all.

Isabella would really like to know when that feeling is going to kick in.

Mrs Cromwell is quiet when she walks in. She was loud at first but one look at Isabella's face has her falling silent. Why was it bothering Isabella so much? She's known he was cheating on her for weeks. Though she hasn't, not really. Isabella hasn't allowed herself to think about it because of the other thing she can't bear to think about.

"Spit it out then." Mrs Cromwells demands, folding her hands onto her lap when Isabella places a cup of tea on the side table.

She doesn't answer right away. Instead she takes in the room. The broken mantle above a roaring fire, windows cracked and patched up so many times that light barely flickers in, a threadbare carpet she had dragged over from the market for Mrs Cromwell. Eventually, Isabella settles into the moth bitten arm chair opposite her friend and the pair sit in silence for a while.

For a moment Isabella is transported back in time, waiting for her mother to use the weapon of silence against her. Except Mrs Cromwell's silence is patient, not accusatory.

"I love my husband." Isabella whispers and tears begin to slide down her cheeks. "Oh god, I love him."

And when she breaks down into rattling sobs Mrs Cromwell just reaches over and holds her hand.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡

When Mrs Cromwell has managed to ply her with another cup of tea Isabella finally manages a small smile of thanks. Neither of them comment on how that one small sign of life has Mrs Cromwell sagging in relief. The old woman had managed to totter around the kitchen while Isabella had quietly wept.

She was grateful, oh so grateful to have the older woman in her life. Especially when she wrapped Isabella up in her best blanket, tucking into her sides like her mother had once done before settling back in her seat with a stern smile.

"Leave him." She whispers. "Take your boy and stay here for a while, with me."

"I just told you I love my husband and your response is that I should run away?" She huffs, refusing to meet Mrs Cromwell's burning stare.

"Do you love him?"

Isabella thinks the answer might just be more complicated than yes or no. But she sighs and answers anyway.

"Yes." Isabella winces, shrugging a little. She risks glancing up only to have her chest cave at the reassurance and love in Mrs Cromwell's eyes. "But I don't love all of him."

The words allow a weight to leave from her chest and it reminds Isabella of why she was crying in the first place. Because she loved her husband, and when she finally admitted it to herself it was a relief- and a chain.

"I love the man I married." She frowns, thinking through her words. "The one who cried gentle tears on our wedding day, who buys cinnamon for my tea when we can afford it. I love the father who carves handmade toys for our son, who stays up with me when Ollie has nightmares. I love that man." Her eyes are watering again and Isabella hates it. "The one who shares sweet kisses with me and stolen moments."

She twists her head slightly, closing her eyes and straining her head as if the physical pull could force her thoughts out of her mouth.

"He's been so kind recently. These past three days have been a dream come true. I have my husband back." A salty tear drips down her face, rolling over her mouth. "And all I could think was, when did that man leave? When did the man I married leave and take my love with him? Because this isn't him. It can't be him because this can't be me."

"Because I can't be in love with a man who scares me. Who scares my son." She keeps her eyes closed as the tears fall. "A man who yells and roars, and breaks cabinets when he's mad and throws chairs when he's upset. That is not the man I married."

"And it is not the man I deserve." And the thought breaks her heart. "It's not the father Oliver deserves."

Because she knows there's better now and even if the thought is ridiculous or impractical she can't stop it. Can't stop the desire to escape and leave like the queens can. To have friends who bring her gifts and encourage her passions.

And most importantly to have someone who reads her son three books even when they only promised one.

Because Tomas hasn't been that man in a very long time and she was so damn tired of pretending he was.

"I don't know what to do."

When she feels weathered hands gripping her own Isabella finally relents. Opening her eyes and staring at the bloody crescents where her fingernails dug into the skin of her palm. For a moment Mrs Cromwell says nothing, only smoothing out each finger and delicately wiping the blood off her palm with the sleeves of her dress.

"We're going to get you the life you deserve." Her voice is full of such conviction that Isabella can't help but believe her. "But it's going to take a bit of planning."

A/N: Fluff next chapter!!!!! I promise!!!!!!!! It's going to be the dinner with the IC, Isabella and Oliver so now is the time to comment requests or suggestions for that!

But also.... Isabella is asking for help!!!!!!!!!!! I feel like a proud mama bear.