The Bond for Four Seasons

We married on a bright spring day, her hair fluttering as we said our vows.
Everything was perfect... until it wasn’t. Problems appeared seemingly out of nowhere – storm clouds on a July afternoon.
Months passed, but our troubles never really did, her sharp words lashing at me like hail, tears threatening to fall as often as rain in November.
She hated me, her retorts growing frosty, her face a mask of ice. I loved her still, as I had promised by signing the marriage certificate.
When we divorced, I was broken.
She, however, seemed more worried about breaking the prenup.