"George's dad wanted him to marry my daughter – she's an entrepreneur in Belgium," she remarked, gesturing toward a meticulously high-maintenance girl who appeared to be around my age. My hand instinctively pressed against my chest at the sight of her, silently thankful she had been spared from the Devil’s clutches. How could this poor girl tolerate his torment?
"But George ended up marrying you. Do you even know about black magic? I mean what did he see in you?" Her expression held a mix of repulsion and disdain, as though she considered me unworthy of being wed to George. Growing weary of her judgmental words, I clutched that phone in my hand and decided not to endure her babbling any further.
"Perhaps something that you cannot see," I replied, slipping the mobile beneath the folds of
