Dear Ex-wife Marry Me by Twin Bridge

“Oliver, how the hell did the Porter family end up with a sicko like you who’s into guys?” the man

sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he cornered Oliver in the dimly lit room. With Oliver

unresponsive to his baiting, the man jabbed a finger into his chest, his voice taking on a menacing

tone, “Imagine what would happen if the folks outside got wind of your preferences. Think they’d resist

the urge to take you out, given how much they despise your kind?” The unwritten laws of Forbidden

Island were clear. people like Oliver, who went against the grain, were deemed worthless to society and

were marked for death. The elite of Forbidden Island had crafted these laws under the twisted notion

that unions unable to bear children offered no fresh blood to their society, and therefore, were to be

shunned and discarded. Oliver leaned back, hands cradling his head, the picture of nonchalance.

“Yeah, yeah, I should be dead. Pity for you though, I’m still kicking. Keep barking from your cage, will

ya?” The man, quivering with rage, took a deep breath to compose himself. “Grandpa’s heard the

news. He’s on his way here, so you just wait!” With those words, he threw a cursory nod towards Ian

and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Now it was just Ian and Oliver. Oliver’s tone was

laced with sarcasm. “You really think that place called North America won’t discriminate against people

like me? That some countries there would actually support gay marriage?” “It’s true,” Ian responded,

his tone flat. “Ian, I genuinely hope I can make it to that country you speak of alive.” Ian’s brow

furrowed slightly, his voice still soft. “I won’t let you die.” Oliver shifted to a more comfortable position. “I

hope so. I’ve never left Forbidden Island. We were always taught to believe it was the only country in

the world.” Ian didn’t reply. Instead, he straightened his black robe. “I’m going out to snoop around for

some information.” “Aren’t you going to see your girl?” “I am, but there’s trouble brewing in Middle

Island tonight. Her place got trashed.” “Is she okay?” “Yeah, but I lost her in the chaos, and now we’ve

lost contact.” Maja’s number had been left on a small screen, but the blackout that night wiped it clean.

And now, with Ian in disguise, no one dared to question him. He was still unaware of Maja’s number,

and his plan to see her that night fell through as her residence was reduced to rubble. Maja had

become a target, and while he tried to follow her, interference from the Porter family delayed him. Now,

he had no clue where she had gone. But if they were both still on Middle Island, they’d surely cross

paths within a couple of days. Ian massaged his temples and stepped out into the night. As dawn

broke, Maja awoke in a makeshift tent. Peering out, she saw Patric squatting outside, amusing himself

with the mud, while Quentin sat on a rock, his gaze lost in the distance. They were on the run, and the

weight of their situation pressed heavily on her. “Quentin.” She called out and tossed him a granola bar.

“Have something to eat.” Noticing Patric had somehow procured a couple of fish and was grilling them,

guts already cleaned out, she was surprised. “Who prepped the fish?” Quentin unwrapped the granola

bar, “Me. Couldn’t expect anything from that dimwit. But he’s got luck. I found these two fish in the

nearby stream this morning. If he weren’t so out of it, he’d probably be quite the character, right?” Maja

raised an eyebrow. Eric was indeed the golden boy of the Raymond family, formidable in his own right.

As for Patric, this alter ego had some clout in North America too, or else he would’ve been nabbed by

the Windhelm folks long ago. She tossed another granola bar to Patric, who turned away, his voice

indifferent. “Not hungry, feeling blue.” Maja moved closer, picking up a stick skewered with fish, sniffing

its tempting aroma. “What’s got you down?” He seemed fine, no sign of fever. “Maja.” He moved to

embrace her but was promptly pushed away, her brow furrowed. Since his accident, his gestures had

become too intimate at times. Sometimes, he even seemed to forget who he was, believing himself to

be Ian. Why would he think that? But then, what answers could Maja expect from a fool?”Oliver, how

the hell did the Porter family end up with a sicko like you who’s into guys?” the man sneered, his voice

dripping with disdain as he cornered Oliver in the dimly lit room. With Oliver unresponsive to his baiting,

the man jabbed a finger into his chest, his voice taking on a menacing tone, “Imagine what would

happen if the folks outside got wind of your preferences. Think they’d resist the urge to take you out,

given how much they despise your kind?” The unwritten laws of Forbidden Island were clear. people

like Oliver, who went against the grain, were deemed worthless to society and were marked for death.

The elite of Forbidden Island had crafted these laws under the twisted notion that unions unable to bear

children offered no fresh blood to their society, and therefore, were to be shunned and discarded.

Oliver leaned back, hands cradling his head, the picture of nonchalance. “Yeah, yeah, I should be

dead. Pity for you though, I’m still kicking. Keep barking from your cage, will ya?” The man, quivering

with rage, took a deep breath to compose himself. “Grandpa’s heard the news. He’s on his way here,

so you just wait!” With those words, he threw a cursory nod towards Ian and stormed out, slamming the

door behind him. Now it was just Ian and Oliver. Oliver’s tone was laced with sarcasm. “You really think

that place called North America won’t discriminate against people like me? That some countries there

would actually support gay marriage?” “It’s true,” Ian responded, his tone flat. “Ian, I genuinely hope I

can make it to that country you speak of alive.” Ian’s brow furrowed slightly, his voice still soft. “I won’t

let you die.” Oliver shifted to a more comfortable position. “I hope so. I’ve never left Forbidden Island.

We were always taught to believe it was the only country in the world.” Ian didn’t reply. Instead, he

straightened his black robe. “I’m going out to snoop around for some information.” “Aren’t you going to

see your girl?” “I am, but there’s trouble brewing in Middle Island tonight. Her place got trashed.” “Is

she okay?” “Yeah, but I lost her in the chaos, and now we’ve lost contact.” Maja’s number had been left

on a small screen, but the blackout that night wiped it clean. And now, with Ian in disguise, no one

dared to question him. He was still unaware of Maja’s number, and his plan to see her that night fell

through as her residence was reduced to rubble. Maja had become a target, and while he tried to follow

her, interference from the Porter family delayed him. Now, he had no clue where she had gone. But if

they were both still on Middle Island, they’d surely cross paths within a couple of days. Ian massaged

his temples and stepped out into the night. As dawn broke, Maja awoke in a makeshift tent. Peering

out, she saw Patric squatting outside, amusing himself with the mud, while Quentin sat on a rock, his

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gaze lost in the distance. They were on the run, and the weight of their situation pressed heavily on her.

“Quentin.” She called out and tossed him a granola bar. “Have something to eat.” Noticing Patric had

somehow procured a couple of fish and was grilling them, guts already cleaned out, she was surprised.

“Who prepped the fish?” Quentin unwrapped the granola bar, “Me. Couldn’t expect anything from that

dimwit. But he’s got luck. I found these two fish in the nearby stream this morning. If he weren’t so out

of it, he’d probably be quite the character, right?” Maja raised an eyebrow. Eric was indeed the golden

boy of the Raymond family, formidable in his own right. As for Patric, this alter ego had some clout in

North America too, or else he would’ve been nabbed by the Windhelm folks long ago. She tossed

another granola bar to Patric, who turned away, his voice indifferent. “Not hungry, feeling blue.” Maja

moved closer, picking up a stick skewered with fish, sniffing its tempting aroma. “What’s got you

down?” He seemed fine, no sign of fever. “Maja.” He moved to embrace her but was promptly pushed

away, her brow furrowed. Since his accident, his gestures had become too intimate at times.

Sometimes, he even seemed to forget who he was, believing himself to be Ian. Why would he think

that? But then, what answers could Maja expect from a fool?

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