For the longest time, I desperately believed that Tom loved me. I knew that the potion had been what brought him to me, but over time, he grew to love me. Intuition told me that even without Amorentia, Tom would still know that it was I who had taken care of him for the past year.
Many couldnít begin to know how it was that he and I came to be. The villagers whispered of scandal and blackmail, but I merely shrugged it off. I was the lucky one. They were merely jealous. I had the charming, handsome Tom Riddle as a husband while all they had were their slanderous rumors.
The Riddles had found it immensely shocking to find their son bewitched with love. They had attempted to interfere, but they truly had no say. How could they? I knew what they were thinking. I knew they thought of me as ugly and poor. What could I possibly have to offer to their son?
The truth was, all I had to offer was myself. We ran away together and lived in a fine, modest home. I accommodated to each and every one of his needs. Yet, either upon free will or due to the potion, all he really needed was me.
I was crazy in love. I was reckless. I was foolish. I donít know how I could possibly even convince myself that my feelings were mutual. I began administering less and less potion each and every day.
I couldnít risk my new, comfortable life all at once. I couldnít let go of something I found so precious, so admirable. Tom was truly my one value.
I relied on him for nearly everything. Love, comfort, companionship, solace. He was the most remarkable creature. All my assumptions about him from a distance were true. I finally felt like I had the type of storybook love Iíd always longed for.
I had a dashing husband who loved me. I was so blinded. The wool had been thrown over my eager eyes rapidly, without any hesitation. I began feeling that the potion was unnecessary, as well as deceitful.
I never could have predicted Tomís true reaction. Once I stopped feeding him the potion, it was as if we were perfect strangers.
Even when I told him, even held his hand to my womb, that I was pregnant, he continually denied me. When I explained to him all that I was and all that we were, he easily brushed it off and ran home to his prude parents.
And so quickly, we were through. It was as if heíd never even been a part of my life. The only reminder I had that our love had even existed was the small child growing inside of me.
Yet, now that Tom was gone, I really found no use for a child. It would only serve to remind me of my stupidity. My heart would long for itís father each and every time I saw it, I would remember what I had and what was now lost.
Even worst, I was forced to give up that comfortable home I cherished. If things hadnít been horrible already, they went from bad to worst. I grew desperate, more desperate than ever before. I was poor, barely passing by, pregnant, and alone. I had no one. My father, if he had been released, would have disowned me. There was no one I could turn to.
I had no money, no food, no shelter, and no love. Iíd lost all that Iíd worked so hard, so stealthily, to achieve. My foolish hope. Iíd gambled my love away on a slight possibility. And I was forced to pay for my mistakes.
I grew so desperate I sold my locket, the beautiful, but oh so heavy, family heirloom that sat on my neck each and every day. Ten measly galleons and it was gone.
Every night, wherever it was that I happened to be, I managed to feel the tears glide down my cheeks; tears for an unwanted child, tears for humility, and tears for my growing desperation.
I became weaker and weaker as the days passed. I knew it was unhealthy for my baby to grow without proper nourishment.
Damn the baby. Damn it all.
The baby. Childbirth wasnít nearly as painful as love. Love was rare and shattered, imperfect in every way. There is no fairy tale, there is no justice, and there is no truth. There is only survival. And even so, I was losing my will to live. I knew that if I were to give birth, my life would go from miserable to wretched in a millisecond. I would not only be destitute, but I would have another soul, partially mine, that would rely on me for everything.
I wasnít ready for that type of responsibility. Not alone. Not without Tom. And so, I caved in. I allowed myself one small pleasure before giving up entirely.
I was to name the bastard child after the two men whom Iíd grown to hate the most; Tom Marvolo.