I studied my face in the mirror until the reflection stopped being just a picture and started to feel like proof. Proof that today would be different. I turned my phone off, tucked it into my clutch, and let the silence around me hold the rest of the world at bay. Outside, rain moved like a slow warning across the hotel windows.
Tania was late. I smoothed my palms over the silk of my dress and breathed deep, trying to swallow the small, ugly knot of worry that would not go away. Holan had stood by me when everyone else had turned away. He had told me it was his choice, that his name mattered less than the woman beside him. That was the story I clung to while the hairdresser pinned the last stray curl.
The restroom door sighed behind me when I pushed it open. It should have been empty. Instead a woman stood under the harsh mirror light, her back tight, shoulders trembling as if she had been holding her breath for hours. Beside her stood two men. I frowned. Men shouldn't be allowed in here. I was going to say something, but then the bride caught my attention.
She wore white, obviously. The dress fitted like armor, high at the neck and heavy with lace. But it did nothing to hide the way she kept rubbing at the seam where the bodice met her skin. Up close, I could see the marks on her wrists. Her mascara had run in thin black tracks. Her hands looked raw, as if she had been gripping the same edge of fabric until her fingers ached.
Even more men in black suits filled the doorway. They waited like vultures circling a carcass. One of them glanced at me the way a guard glances at a stranger in a no-entry room. The air went colder.
I almost turned away. Brides did not need strangers in their dressing rooms. But something in the woman's eyes stopped me. There was a frantic kind of hope in them. She kept scanning the door, then the mirror, like she was waiting for someone who might never come.
"You look beautiful," I said. The words felt small in that heavy space, almost swallowed by it. But it was all I could think to say.
Her throat moved as she gulped, her muscles tightening like she was forcing something down. For a moment, she just stared at me — not blinking, not smiling — as if she was trying to figure out if I was safe or another person sent to watch her.
Then she managed a smile. It was thin and strange, one of those smiles that only stretches the lips but never reaches the eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice dry but soft.
I smiled back, awkwardly. A silence grew between us, thick enough to make me shift on my feet. Then she spoke again.
"The tag," she said quietly. "It keeps cutting into me. Could you… help me with it?"
"Tag?" I frowned, unsure if I heard her right. My eyes moved to where she was pointing — somewhere under the lace at the back of her dress — and then to the men in suits standing near the door. Their eyes followed my every move, unblinking, like statues waiting for an order.
"I… I mean, yeah, but—" I hesitated, glancing toward them again. "Wouldn't you rather they… you know, step outside?"
Her expression shifted. For a second, I saw panic flicker through her eyes, then calm calculation.
"Could you step out for a moment?" she said, her tone polite but strained. "I have to undress."
The men exchanged a look. The one in front, clearly the leader, gave a small shake of his head — not a no, but not a yes either. The silence stretched.
"You have five minutes," he finally said, his voice deep, clipped. "If you're not out by then, we're coming in."
The words sounded like a threat.
He stepped back, the other two following, and the door closed behind them with a dull click.
The room felt colder instantly.
I moved toward her. Her dress was so tight she seemed to be held in it by force. When I reached to undo the tiny hook she hissed and grabbed my hand. Her fingers were cold and shaking.
"Please," she whispered. "I need to make a call. They are forcing me. I did not say yes. My father sold me."
My skin prickled. The hair at the back of my neck stood up. The room felt too small. The steady hiss of the dryers and the friendly chatter from another salon door became something far away, like the rest of the world had been cut off.
"Who are they marrying you to?" I asked, though the answer was obvious in the way the men stood as if the name alone could break anyone who heard it.
She swallowed. "He will kill me. He is an animal." She looked at me with an honesty that hurt. "Please, may I use your phone? Just a minute. I have someone who might help. I just need to call before they come back."
I had already turned my phone off. I had tucked it away on purpose, to keep Holan's mother out, to keep this day sacred. Now that I reached into my clutch,
"Quick," she said, pressing my hand. "If they come and find you here, they will take you too. They will say you were helping me on purpose."
She said it as if she already knew how the world would answer. The fear in her eyes was raw and immediate. It was the kind of fear that steals your breath.
I could feel Tania's car horn through the window. I could see my reflection halfway down the hall, a woman on the way to marry the man she loved. But right then, I made the choice that would split the day in two.
"Okay," I said. "One call. Quick."
She took the phone from me with hands that shook so badly I had to steady them. Her thumb hovered. Her lips moved like she was saying a prayer. I stood by the sink watching her, listening for the sound of footsteps in the hall.
She dialed. Her voice was a whisper into the phone. The first words she breathed into it made my blood go cold.
She said a name.
It wasn't a full sentence. Just one name, barely louder than breath. But it was enough to still the air. Her voice cracked as if saying it cost her something. Then she looked at me, straight into my eyes, and mouthed run.
The door burst open before I could move.
The men stormed in without a word. Their shoes thudded against the tiles, black coats swaying with purpose. The tallest one stepped forward, his hand sliding into his pocket where the shape of a gun was obvious.
The woman, still clutching my phone, backed up until her shoulders hit the mirror. The sound of her body against the glass made a dull crack. She didn't scream. She didn't even flinch.
One of the men said something in a language I didn't understand. The tone alone told me it wasn't a question.
"Give it," the tall one said, holding his hand out.
Her fingers tightened around my phone.
I don't know what I was thinking when I stepped forward. Maybe I thought I could reason with them, or maybe I thought she'd be safe if I pretended she wasn't alone. My heart was pounding so hard I could taste it.
"Hey," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "She's not feeling well. Let her sit—"
The man's gaze snapped to me. Just one look, and I froze. It wasn't anger in his eyes—it was calculation. He tilted his head slightly, the way someone does before deciding if you're worth killing.
"Who are you?" he asked. His accent made the words sound too calm.
"I—just came to fix her dress," I lied quickly. "She—she asked for help."
The woman's lips trembled. "She's no one," she said quickly, voice shaking. "She was leaving."
The man studied me a moment longer. Then he moved faster than I could blink. He grabbed her wrist and twisted until the phone fell to the floor. It hit hard, skidding across the tiles and stopping by my heel.
"Go," she hissed at me. "Please."
I should have. God, I should have. But I didn't move.
He turned back to her and spoke low, too soft for me to catch. She nodded, tears spilling silently, and that's when I saw it—the bruise running along her collarbone, shaped like fingers.
I bent down, pretending to pick up the phone, but before I could touch it another man kicked it away.
"Out," the tall one said to me. "Now."
I didn't argue. My knees felt weak as I walked out, the scent of perfume and fear clinging to my clothes.
The door closed behind me, and I heard it—the muffled thud of a slap, a small gasp, then silence.
My legs moved on their own, carrying me down the hallway. My heart hammered so violently I thought I'd faint.
When I reached the elevator, I turned back once. The door to the restroom was still shut, but I could swear someone was staring from behind it.
And then my phone buzzed in my hand.
Except, it wasn't my phone.
It was hers.
The screen was cracked, smeared with her makeup, but the name flashing on it was clear enough to stop me cold.
"Holan."