They found her in a small town two states over.
A new identity.
A new name.
But the same white dress.
And the same box.
This time, it was under her bed.
Inside were photos.
Dozens.
Of men.
All young.
All handsome.
All smiling.
Before.
She had a ritual.
She would take a photo the first day they met.
Then another, every week.
Until the smile faded.
Until the fear set in.
Until the pain began.
She kept their teeth.
Their hair.
Their eyes.
Preserved in jars.
Labeled.
"My First Love."
"The One Who Tried to Leave."
"The One Who Lied."
She didn't speak when they found her.
She just opened the box.
And smiled.
She had started a new jar.
Fresh.
Empty.
Waiting.