Tracy's POV
The ropes cut deeper with every scrape against the jagged rock. My wrists were raw, the skin split open in places, slick with rain and blood. Each pull sent a sting up my arms, but I bit my lip so hard it almost bled, forcing myself to keep sawing the rope against the jagged rock at the side of the road.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Pain. Burn. Tear.
I wanted to stop. God, I wanted to stop. Each movement was fire through my arms, but stopping wasn't an option. But the thought of spending one more hour bound like some animal… it made me sick.
The storm didn't care about me. It crashed and roared above, lightning splitting the sky into pieces, thunder chasing it like a beast. Rain poured down my face like it wanted to drown me. My hair clung to my face, my ruined dress wrapped around my legs like a shroud. I was shaking so badly I could barely hold myself up, but I pressed harder.
Then— suddenly— at last, the rope gave way.
I stumbled back as my wrists slipped free. For a moment I just stared at my writs, red and swollen, ringed with angry cuts. My arms felt weightless, like they did not belong to me. The sudden freedom felt unreal, like a dream that could vanish if I blinked.
I was free!
The word should have filled me with relief. But instead, a cold, crushing emptiness filled my chest.
I dropped to my knees, arms wrapped around myself. The mud sucked at the hem of my dress, rain drumming against my back. My breath came fast and uneven, like I couldn't fill my lungs no matter how hard I tried.
"What now?" I whispered, though the storm swallowed my voice.
But no one had no answer.
I turned my head and looked around— trees, road, black sky. Nothing else. Not a single light. Not a single voice. Just me, a ruined bride abandoned in the middle of nowhere and trees bending under the storm. I was truly alone.
And that's when the weight of it all crashed down.
My family.
Did they even know I was missing? Or did they think I had run?
Were they looking for me right now? Or had the wedding gone on without me?
I saw my father's face in my mind, proud and teary- eyed as he held my hand that morning. Was he still standing at the altar now? confused, looking for me in the crowd? Or had he lowered his head in shame when whispers began?
My mother's soft voice echoed in my head— "Today is your day." Did she believe I'd thrown it all away? Did she think I'd humiliated our family, fleeing like some coward? Did she think I'd left by choice?
My sister's laughter echoed faintly, teasing me about how beautiful I looked as she brushed my hair. Was she still sitting in that church, cheeks burning as guests murmured and speculated? Was she crying now? Angry? Embarrassed?
The thought made my stomach twist so hard I almost doubled over.
The world thought I had run.
Even my fiancé… No! My chest clenched too tightly to think of him. Was he hurt? Angry? Did he think I'd betrayed him? Or worse— had someone else already stepped into my place, smiling under my veil?
The thought sliced through me sharper than any knife.
Tears burned down my cheeks, mixing with the rain. I dug my fingers into the mud, needing to feel something solid, something real. But even the earth beneath me felt unsteady, shifting, drowning me in its weight.
"I didn't leave you." I whispered into the storm, as if my family could hear me across the miles. My voice cracked. "I didn't leave anyone. I was taken. I was. "
But what did it matter? They would never know. Everyone would think I had run away like a coward, abandoning everything on the one day I had promised not to.
A sob broke from my throat, raw and painful. I curled in on myself, arms tight around my knees. The storm soaked me through, but I couldn't care. I cried until my chest hurt, until I was too empty to make another sound.
Then silence.
Then another thought slid in, fragile but bright.
When the sun comes up, I'll go home.
I clung to it like a lifeline. If I could survive the night— just one night— I could find my way back. I'd show them my wrists, the cuts, the bruises, the mud. I'd tell them everything. I'd tell them I didn't run. I'd tell them I was taken. They'd believe me. They had to.
The thought of my father seeing me, of my mother holding me, of my sister wrapping her arms around me— it filled my chest with a painful kind of hope.
I wiped my face with my shaking hands. "Just hold on until dawn." I whispered. "Just until dawn."
I pushed myself up, swaying on unsteady legs. The mud sucked at my shoes, but I dragged them free. The storm lashed at me, but I moved forward, arms hugging my chest.
I didn't know where I was. I didn't know how far I'd have to walk. I didn't know where I was headed. I didn't know if anyone was looking for me.
But I knew one thing— if I stayed here, I'd never be found. And the thought of going home was the only thing keeping my feet moving.
Keep going. Keep breathing. Don't stop now.
I wasn't ready to be forgotten. Not yet.
Somewhere out there was light. Shelter. A road sign. Something. Anything.
And when I found it, I'd go back. I'd stand in front of my family, ruined dress and all, and they'd see. They'd know.
At least, that's what I told myself.
I pressed my raw wrists together, feeling the sting of the cuts. My gown clung to me like chains. My teeth chattered as the storm roared on.
But inside me, the whisper kept rising, fragile but stubborn:
Keep going. Survive the night. Go home at dawn.
I didn't know if it was true. I didn't know if home even existed for me anymore.
But I had nothing else.
And so, soaked, shaking, a ghost of a bride on a black road, I started walking.