The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Johnson family estate as voices echoed from the grand living room. Patricia Johnson stood in the center of the ornate space, her chin raised defiantly as hostile eyes bore into her from every direction.

"Patricia, you're being absolutely ridiculous," sneered her sister-in-law, Catherine, pacing around her like a predator circling wounded prey. "That marriage certificate of yours is nothing but worthless paper now. Marco abandoned you like yesterday's garbage."

"He didn't abandon me," Patricia replied firmly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Marco is fighting for our country. He's the Defender of Seraphia, and he'll come back to me."

Catherine threw back her head and laughed harshly. "Defender of Seraphia? More like the deserter of his own wife! The man ran away from his responsibilities faster than a coward fleeing battle."

"That's not true," Patricia's voice cracked slightly, but her resolve remained unshaken.

Dante Romano wheeled his chair closer, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "Patricia, sweet Patricia," he said in a sickeningly smooth voice, "how long will you cling to this fantasy? Five years as his girlfriend, five years as his wife, and what do you have to show for it? An empty bed and a certificate that means nothing."

"It means everything to me," Patricia whispered, clutching the marriage document to her chest.

"Everything?" Catherine scoffed. "You're holding onto nothing but air, Patricia. You're like a dog waiting for a master who's never coming home. It's pathetic."

The elderly family patriarch, George Johnson, cleared his throat from his leather armchair. "Patricia, child, you must face reality. The Marriage Bureau has already received a request from a Three-Star Warrior Captain to dissolve this union. The paperwork is practically processed."

"I don't care what paperwork they have," Patricia's voice rose, fire igniting in her eyes. "Marco Bianchi is my husband, and I will not betray that bond."

"Betray?" Catherine's laugh was like glass breaking. "The only betrayal here is what that coward did to you. He left you to rot here like spoiled fruit while he played soldier across eight nations. You're nothing but his discarded toy."

Dante leaned forward in his wheelchair, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Patricia, I've been patient. I've waited for you to come to your senses. I can offer you everything that phantom husband of yours never could—stability, presence, a real marriage."

"Never," Patricia's response was immediate and fierce. "I would rather die than marry you or anyone else. Marco is the only man I will ever call husband."

"Then you'll die a fool," Catherine spat. "Waiting for a ghost while real men stand before you. You're like a mare who won't accept a new rider because she's still dreaming of her dead master."

Patricia's aunt, Margaret, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. "Patricia, dear, even the military officials are saying Marco's unit was likely lost in the final battles. You're mourning a dead man while living like a nun. It's unnatural."

"Marco never lost a battle," Patricia declared, her voice ringing with pride. "Not once in all his campaigns. Lord Marco Bianchi, the Mighty Marco, has brought victory to every nation he's defended. He's not dead—he's a hero."

"Hero?" Dante's voice turned venomous. "Heroes don't abandon their wives for a decade. Heroes don't leave their women to fend off other suitors alone. You're defending a man who treats you like dirt under his boots."

"That's enough!" Patricia's eyes blazed. "You speak of a man you could never hope to equal. While you've been sitting in that chair plotting to steal another man's wife, Marco has been saving lives and defending freedom. You're not worthy to speak his name."

Catherine moved closer, her voice dropping to a cruel whisper. "Look at yourself, Patricia. Ten years of waiting have turned you into a pathetic shadow. You're like a beaten dog, still loyal to the hand that struck you. It's disgusting."

"My loyalty is not disgusting—it's sacred," Patricia shot back. "Something none of you would understand because you've never felt true love or honor."

George Johnson slammed his cane against the floor. "Enough of this nonsense! Patricia, you will sign the annulment papers, or you'll find yourself cut off from this family entirely. We won't support this delusion any longer."

"Then cut me off," Patricia's voice was steady as steel. "I would rather live as a beggar on the streets than betray my husband's memory and my sacred vows."

"Memory?" Catherine laughed cruelly. "You're talking about him like he's already dead. Maybe deep down, you know the truth—that Marco Bianchi was nothing but a coward who used war as an excuse to escape his responsibilities."

"He is not a coward!" Patricia's voice echoed through the room. "Marco fought across eight nations! He's respected as the greatest general of our time! While you sit here gossiping and scheming, he's been sacrificing everything for people like you—ungrateful parasites who don't deserve his protection."

Dante's expression darkened. "Ungrateful parasites? Patricia, you forget yourself. I am offering you salvation from this humiliation. You're clinging to a marriage certificate like a shipwreck survivor clinging to driftwood. It's time to let go and swim to shore."

"This certificate represents ten years of my life, ten years of love, ten years of faith," Patricia held up the document, her voice trembling with emotion. "It's not just paper—it's the proof of everything pure and true in this world. I will never let you destroy it."

"Pure and true?" Catherine's voice was laced with venom. "It's the symbol of your stupidity. You're like a moth flying into a flame, too stupid to realize you're burning alive."

Margaret shook her head sadly. "Patricia, we're trying to save you from yourself. Can't you see that this obsession is killing you? You're wasting the best years of your life on a man who clearly doesn't value what he left behind."

"Marco values me more than any of you ever could," Patricia replied, tears beginning to form in her eyes but her voice remaining strong. "He trusts me to wait for him, to keep our love alive while he serves something greater than himself. That trust is worth more than all your shallow promises and threats."

"Trust?" Dante laughed bitterly. "He trusts you to sit here like a faithful hound while he lives his life free of any real commitment. You're not a wife, Patricia—you're a convenience he can return to if and when it suits him."

"You're wrong," Patricia whispered, but her conviction burned bright in her eyes. "Marco will return to me, and when he does, he'll find me exactly as he left me—faithful, loving, and proud to bear his name."

Catherine stepped closer, her final words cutting like a blade. "Then you'll wait forever, you foolish girl. And when you die alone and forgotten, that precious certificate of yours will be nothing but kindling for someone else's fire."

Patricia clutched the marriage certificate tighter, her knuckles white but her spirit unbroken. "I will wait forever if I must. I am Marco Bianchi's wife, and nothing you say or do will ever change that truth."

The room fell silent except for the sound of Patricia's quiet breathing, her defiance hanging in the air like an unbreakable shield against their cruelty.