Jack Llewellyn Hughes

Her voice was little more than a whisper on the wind as he held up the silver band. I was looking down at the diamond, shimmering in the pale sunlight, when I heard her for the first time, but I thought nothing of it. I was just so happy. I told him that of course I would marry him.

Days later, I saw my friends for the first time in weeks and they all screamed in delight as I showed them the ring, putting an end to their inquisition into where I’d been all this time. Their hands were all grasping out at my own, desperate to see the ring, and that was when I heard her voice the second time. I couldn’t make out the words, but they were urgent and commanding. I ignored her and joined in my friends’ hysterics.

It was as I sat in bed one Friday night, waiting for him to return, that I first made out her warning. I’d just posted a picture of my diamond-adorned hand, complete with the perfect filter, when she whispered her warnings, ones I was sick of hearing. I ripped the ring off my finger and left it in my jewellery box until morning.

I hear her whispering to me from inside the box every night now, telling me hushed stories when I’m in bed alone and telling me to run away as I wait for him. I’ve heard them all before. He’s had such bad luck with women, all narcissists and fantasists. I know he didn’t deal with all of these relationships in the best way, but I’m nothing like those women. The two of us really are perfect together.

I bury my head in the pillow and block out the whispers.