They laughed when she was forced to marry the village madman _ but what he did after the wedding shocked everyone.

 They laughed when she was forced to marry the village madman _ but what he did after the wedding shocked everyone.

Episode 2

Over the next few days, Jacob remained silent but consistent. He woke up early, brought water from the stream, and left small meals for Emily without speaking. He never raised his voice. Never came too close. He simply worked. Emily began to notice things—like how his movements were precise, how he watched the stars before sleeping, and how he carved small wooden figures by moonlight. One evening, curiosity took over. She walked over to where he sat carving and watched from behind. His fingers moved with care, shaping a small horse from a block of wood.

He turned slowly and handed her the horse without a word. Their eyes met for the first time, and something passed between them—a fragile thread of understanding. Emily took the horse, unsure how to react. It was the first kind gesture anyone had offered her in weeks. Her heart softened slightly, even as her mind stayed guarded. That night, she placed the little horse beside her mat before lying down. It was a tiny thing, but it felt like a beginning.

Word began to spread through the village. Women at the stream whispered that Emily had not yet run away. Some speculated that she had gone mad too. Others said she was cursed. A few said she must be planning her escape. Emily ignored them. She now walked to the stream with her head held just slightly higher, not because she was proud, but because she was beginning to see differently. Jacob never spoke, but his silence had weight. His presence had rhythm. One day, while collecting water, a group of women snickered and asked if her madman had finally scared her mute. Emily just smiled faintly and walked away.

When she returned home, she found Jacob trying to split thick firewood with a worn machete. She offered to help. He paused, looked at her, and then quietly nodded. For the first time, they worked side by side. He handed her smaller pieces, and she placed them neatly into a stack. It was quiet, but not uncomfortable. That evening, when she handed him a cup of water instead of waiting for him to fetch it himself, he looked at her for a long moment before giving a single, soft nod. It felt like progress.

Days passed, and Emily began cleaning the hut out of habit. She swept the dusty floor, folded Jacob’s mat, and arranged the books in the corner. One afternoon, while rearranging an uneven wooden plank near the center of the floor, she noticed something odd. It moved. Curiosity sparked, she pulled it up—and underneath, hidden carefully, was a worn leather journal. The pages were filled with tiny, neat handwriting. Her breath caught as she flipped through the first few pages. These weren’t the ramblings of a madman. These were reflections. Observations. Brilliant thoughts.

She sat down and read until her legs went numb. The journal described the stars, village politics, philosophy, and even inventions he wished he could build. Jacob had once been educated—possibly even wealthy. But there was pain between the lines. Betrayal. Something had happened to him. Emily held the journal tightly as if holding a new truth. That night, when he returned from the forest carrying a small rabbit, she didn’t look away. She asked, softly, if he had written it. He froze. His face changed. Then slowly—barely above a whisper—he said yes.

After that night, Jacob began to speak—not much, but enough. His voice was soft, a little raspy from disuse, but there was a sharp clarity in every word. He told her how he had once studied engineering in the city, how he had plans for irrigation systems and tools that could help farmers. But after his father’s death, a bitter fight over land left him betrayed by his own family. He came to the village to heal, but the grief, isolation, and betrayal shattered him—and the villagers mistook his silence for madness.

Note _ this story belongs to jennylight. Any other page aside from hers stole it.

Emily felt her chest tighten with emotion. She had judged him too. Now, each time she looked at him, she saw not a madman—but a broken genius trying to find peace. She began to tell him her story too—how her father died young, how her stepmother married into the family and turned her into a servant. How marriage to Jacob was supposed to be punishment. But she was starting to see it might have been her rescue. That night, she didn’t sleep right away. She lay awake, staring at the little wooden horse beside her mat and thinking—maybe this was fate in disguise.

Trouble came early one morning when Emily went to the market alone. As she selected cassava roots, a drunken man staggered toward her, mocking her for being “the madman’s wife.” He grabbed her wrist and sneered. Emily tried to pull away, but the man laughed louder, drawing a small crowd. Suddenly, Jacob appeared—silent, fast, and deadly serious. Before anyone realized, he had yanked the man away and shoved him so hard he tumbled into a basket of peppers. Jacob didn’t speak a word. He just stared, eyes blazing, until the man scrambled away like a beaten dog.

The crowd fell into stunned silence. Nobody had expected Jacob to defend her, let alone with such quiet rage. Emily’s heart raced—not from fear, but something deeper. Gratitude. Safety. She looked up at him, his chest rising and falling, fists clenched. He took her hand—not forcefully, not awkwardly, but with purpose—and led her away from the crowd. As they walked home, her fingers remained wrapped in his, and for the first time, she didn’t want to let go.

That evening, Emily cooked yam porridge with roasted peppers, the scent filling the hut with warmth. Jacob sat nearby, sharpening a knife on a smooth stone, occasionally glancing her way. When she placed a bowl in front of him and sat with her own, there was a strange comfort between them—like two old souls learning to speak without words. As she took her first bite, she caught him staring. Their eyes met, and for the first time since she had arrived, he smiled. It was small, almost invisible—but it was real. And it melted something inside her