~Elsie's POV
My words meant nothing when I told my parents that I wouldn't be getting married to the old widower.
"I'm not doing it," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "I will never marry him."
The words had barely left my mouth when my mother let out a bitter laugh, the kind that didn't sound like laughter at all.
"You won't?" she snapped, stepping closer. "After everything we have done for you?"
I swallowed, my chest tightening.
"We struggled for you," she continued, her voice rising with every word. "We paid your school fees when we had nothing. Do you even know where most of that money came from?"
I said nothing.
Because something in me already knew.
"It was him," she said, pointing like she was accusing me of something worse. "Grandpa Davies. We borrowed from him. And now you think you can just refuse?"
My heart dropped.
"No…" I whispered.
"Yes," she cut in sharply. "This is the least you can do for us. You slept with the old man at the party, right? Then, it's right that you get married to him."
"That'a not true," I said, because even though I couldn't remember what happened, I knew that the man I was with was not the old man.
My father scoffed from the side. " Elsie, you are getting married to Grandpa Davies, and that's final,"
I stood there, frozen, my hands clenched, my mind screaming no…as they both decided my future and that of my baby.
But my voice… my voice felt gone. I said no so many times that the word started to lose shape in my mouth, and yet nothing around me slowed down, nothing paused, nothing even pretended to consider what I wanted. It was like I was speaking into air, like I had already been removed from the decisions being made about my life.
Within a week, my wedding was arranged.
Not slowly, not carefully, but quickly, almost aggressively, like they were afraid if they gave me more time, I would find a way to escape it. The venue was chosen without me. I was taken for dress fittings.
"Stand still," the woman said as she adjusted the fabric around me.
"I do not want this," I muttered, though I knew she was not the one to tell.
She did not respond. She just kept working, pinning, adjusting, stepping back to look at me like I was nothing more than a mannequin.
The dress was beautiful.
Of course it was.
White, soft, flowing in a way that made me look like something delicate and untouched, which felt like a cruel joke I was being forced to wear.
"Turn," she said.
I did.
"Perfect," she added.
I stared at my reflection. I did not recognize the girl looking back at me.
She looked calm and composed, like she was about to walk into something she had chosen. But I knew the truth.
"I feel sick," I said quietly.
"Wedding nerves," the woman replied dismissively.
If only it was that simple.
The nausea had not left me for days now. It came in waves, slow and heavy, settling deep in my stomach and rising at the worst moments. Sometimes I had to excuse myself just to breathe, just to remind myself I was still in control of my own body, even if everything else had been taken from me.
At night, it was worse.
Because there was nothing to distract me.
I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my hands resting lightly on my stomach, my thoughts spinning in circles that never led anywhere.
"God… please," I whispered one night, my voice barely audible even to myself. "Please get me out of this."
I closed my eyes, waiting, hoping, for something.
A sign, a change, or anything, but nothing happened. No miracle, no sudden solution. And eventually… I stopped asking. Because hope started to feel like something that only made it harder. So I accepted it, not because I wanted to, but because I had no choice.
The wedding day came too quickly.
It felt like I had blinked and suddenly I was standing there, dressed in white, surrounded by people who looked happy for me, smiling like this was something worth celebrating.
"Smile," my mother whispered sharply as she adjusted my veil.
"I cannot," I replied.
"You will," she said firmly. "Do not embarrass us."
I said nothing. Because what was the point?
The music started, softly, and slowly, and I began to walk step by step down the aisle. I felt like a robot, like my body was moving on its own while my mind stayed somewhere far behind, watching everything happen without being able to stop it.
People were watching, smiling, and whispering, but I did not look at them.
I could not.
Because at the end of the aisle… he was there. The man I was supposed to marry. I forced myself not to react, but the moment my eyes landed on him, disgust rose quickly, sharp and undeniable, and I had to look away almost immediately.
I didn't know him. That thought came strong. I didn't remember him. And yet… I was here. Walking toward him and about to tie my life to his.
I reached the altar, and everything felt distant ands muted, like I was underwater.
The priest began to speak, his voice calm and steady, filling the space with words I barely heard.
"…marriage is a sacred union…"
"…a bond built on trust and commitment…"
I almost laughed, but I did not. I just stood there quietly, and waiting for it to be over. Then it was time for the vows, the moment everything would become real. The priest turned to me, his expression kind, unaware of the storm inside me.
"Do you take…"
The sound cut through everything. It was a gunshots. Five of the bullets was in the church, each one echoing through the church like thunder.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then everything exploded, screams filled the air, people ducking, scattering, panic spreading like fire. I flinched, my heart jumping violently as I turned, and saw him.
The one I was supposed to marry. Blood spread across his chest, his body jerking before collapsing to the ground right next to me.
I froze and I could not move. I could not breathe. Blood splattered across my dress, red against white, and I stared down at it, my mind refusing to catch up with what I was seeing. This is not real, tt could not be, but it was.
"Sit down! No one moves!"
The voice cut through the chaos, strong and commanding.
Armed men flooded the church, moving quickly, efficiently, taking control within seconds. The panic did not stop, but it changed, turning from confusion to fear.
And then, a man walked in slowly and calmly, like none of this was unusual, as if he owned the space.
The gun in his hand still smoked slightly, the scent of it reaching me even from where I stood. My breath caught as my eyes locked onto him, something about him pulling my attention in a way I could not explain.
He walked down the aisle step by step.
People moved away from him without being told, fear clearing his path effortlessly. My heart pounded, because something about him felt familiar. I did not want it to. But it did.
He stopped in front of me, and then he looked at me, not quickly, not casually, but carefully, like he was confirming something, like he already knew what he was looking for. My breath shook and I could not look away.
And then, without breaking eye contact, he spoke.
"Priest, please continue."
His voice was calm. The priest trembled, his hands shaking as he looked between us, clearly unsure of what was happening, what he was supposed to do.
"P-please…" the priest stammered.
"Continue," the man repeated, his tone softer this time, but somehow more dangerous.
Then, finally, the priest nodded slightly, his voice unsteady as he tried to regain control.
I barely heard him. Because all I could focus on… was the man in front of me, the one who had just killed the man I was supposed to marry, the one looking at me like I belonged to him.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the presence of him, steady and overwhelming.
Then, quietly, so only I could hear, he spoke.
"I have been searching for you," he said.
My breath caught.
His gaze did not leave mine.
"Mother of my child."