"I've been worried sick," he continues, directing his attention back to Lori. "Everyone has. Your mother is beside herself."
He extends the flowers toward her like a peace offering. Lori doesn't reach for them.
"How did you find me?" she asks, her voice remarkably steady.
"Your car has GPS tracking on the insurance app," he answers smoothly. "I was concerned for your safety after you left so... abruptly."
The way he says "abruptly" carries a subtle accusation, as if her flight was an inconvenience rather than an escape. I watch his hands, his posture, the controlled way he's maintaining space between them.
"I'm safe," Lori says simply.
Richard's gaze flicks to me again, his smile tightening almost imperceptibly. "Yes, I can see that. And I'm grateful to..." He pauses, raising an eyebrow.
"Arthur," I supply, not offering my hand.
"Arthur," he repeats, as if committing it to memory. "I'm grateful you were here to help her. Lori sometimes gets overwhelmed, especially in high-stress situations. The wedding pressure clearly became too much."
The way he frames it makes my jaw tighten. He's not acknowledging her choice or agency, just recasting her actions as emotional instability.
"It wasn't the pressure," Lori says, her voice gaining strength. "I left because I heard you talking about me. About how marriage would give you 'authority' over me."
Richard's expression doesn't change, but his eyes narrow slightly. "Sweetheart, you misunderstood. Wedding day nerves can distort things." He takes a step closer, lowering his voice to an intimate register. "Whatever you think you heard, we can discuss it privately. This isn't the place for such a personal conversation."
His gaze slides meaningfully toward me, implying I'm the intruder in their intimate moment. It's a subtle power play, attempting to isolate her. I don't move.
"Actually," Lori says, "I understood perfectly. You said I needed structure. That you'd have the authority to keep me on track once we were married."
Richard sighs, the sound calculated to convey patient understanding rather than frustration. "Lori, you're taking things completely out of context. I was discussing our partnership, our future together." He places the flowers on a nearby workbench and takes another step toward her. "You know I only want what's best for you."
"What you want is control," Lori says quietly.
Irritation flickers across Richard's face, quickly masked by concern. He adjusts his approach seamlessly.
"You didn't take your medication yesterday, did you?" he asks gently. The question lands like a grenade in the quiet garage. "Dr. Whitman warned us about this. Skipping doses can lead to paranoia, emotional dysregulation."
Lori's face pales. "There is no medication, Richard. There never was. You and Dr. Whitman cooked that up together."
"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about." Richard turns slightly, directing his words to me as if seeking an ally. "She's been struggling with reality testing lately. Dr. Whitman has been tremendously helpful, but she resists the diagnosis."
My blood runs cold at the manipulation unfolding before me. He's attempting to undermine her credibility, to reframe her legitimate fear as mental illness.
"Seems like she's thinking pretty clearly to me," I say, my voice level but firm.
Richard's mask slips for a fraction of a second, annoyance flashing across his features, before he recalibrates. "I appreciate your concern, but you don't know her medical history. This is a delicate situation that requires professional intervention."
"The only thing delicate is your ego," Lori says, surprising both of us with the steel in her voice. "I'm not going back with you, Richard. Not today, not ever."
He stares at her for a beat, then shakes his head with exaggerated patience. "Lori, sweetheart, you're not thinking clearly. You've run away from our wedding, hidden in a strange town, and spent the night with a man you just met." He gestures at her borrowed clothes. "Look at yourself. This isn't you."
"Actually," she says, "this is more me than I've been allowed to be in years."
Outside, a car slows as it passes the garage. Word will spread quickly in Whitetail Falls, not that I care.
What matters is the woman standing her ground in front of me, her shoulders squared despite the tremor I can see in her hands.
Richard notices our observer too. His approach shifts again, his voice warming with practiced sincerity. "I understand you're upset. The wedding was overwhelming, and I should have been more attentive to your concerns." He reaches for her hand, his movements deliberate and gentle. "Let me take you home. We'll talk through everything, reschedule when you're ready. No pressure."
Lori takes a step back, bumping lightly against my chest. I steady her with a hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension in her muscles.
