“Everyone of theses ancestors had their marriages arranged.”

We walked down the long corridor of dark paintings that I had walked down so many times. Maybe that’s why they all looked so unhappy, I thought.

We strolled along the well manicured gardens.

We stopped at a rose “it is said…

That your great great aunt was to be married to one of the wealthiest and most powerful families. The night of her wedding she climbed down from her room, over the gate and into the arms of her lover, a painter. Now, there is no painting of her in the hall. But there is this rose I suppose,” he shrugged.

Why can I not be like her, I thought. Probably because I cared about my family too much.

The night before my wedding. As I went to bed there was a bunch of roses by my bed. From the rose. Was father trying to tell me something, had the walk past that rose been intentional?