Silence is never really silent is it?

She's alone in the apartment yet again. Nothing but tan walls and a pathetic excuse for a window shade are there to look at. Yes there is a desk on one side of the room but it just reminds her that she is not home but in a place she has tried so hard to convince herself that is home. There is nothing in the room to remind her of happier times. No sunlight reaches the tiny window this late and the photos on the wall have been changed to suit his wants. There is nothing in the room that tells of her life before him. Just pretend happiness and hopes for a better relationship.
This isn't what she imagined when she agreed to be whith him, to marry him, and, if he allows, raise the family she's always dreamed of. She didn't see him forcing her to give up her friends and force her to make friends with his, some of whom she dissagrees with,or hiding things from her when she knows he has people watching her. This was not the fairy tail she thought he would bring. This is her prison, the tan wals, ugly shades and horrible desk.
In her prison she is free to do as she wishes, all but talk to the people he has deamed untrustable, she can go where she wants, only if he allows and, she can clean the room in which she waits for him to return. Yet, no tears fall. He hates crying and she knows not to cry in front of him. The clock beside the bed chimes. He'll be home in an hour.