I ran from my wedding in heels, the heavy dress slowing me down, heart pounding as Derek’s furious voice echoed behind me. I stumbled through endless hotel corridors before bursting into a dim lobby, hiding behind a column. His words still rang in my ears—“You made me do this”—the same ones he used while bruising my wrist. I escaped through a fire exit and knocked desperately on the first door I saw. A man opened, towel in hand, still damp from the shower. His smirk faded when he noticed my trembling. “Please,” I begged, “just let me hide.” He let me in.

The stranger—Ethan—gave me jeans, a hoodie, and a cap. As I dressed, he noticed the bruises. His joking tone disappeared. “That’s why you ran?” I nodded. He didn’t press further, only said, “If you need a door open, mine is.” I left soon after, heading to the only place I could think of—my sister Junie’s house.

She opened the door instantly, shocked. “Skylar, you ran from your wedding?” Inside, I confessed Derek’s abuse and begged to stay one night. But her hesitation unsettled me. She whispered about her boyfriend, “complicated” and “controlling,” urging me to keep quiet in the guest room.

Later, I overheard voices. Derek’s. With Junie. My blood froze as they confessed everything—the marriage was a con to steal my father’s house. Junie resented me; Derek promised her a share. My phone slipped from my hand, exposing me. Derek lunged.

Before he reached me, Ethan appeared. Calm. Fierce. He had followed, recorded everything, and confronted them. “It’s over,” he said, draping his jacket on me.

That night, in a quiet café, Ethan revealed he’d already sent the evidence to my mother. For the first time, I felt safe. A week later, I returned to my father’s house, the apple tree in bloom. Ethan was waiting by the gate—this time, not as a stranger, but as my beginning.