As I watch, a text from Richard appears:
"Lori, Dr. Whitman is concerned about your current emotional state. Return to the venue immediately so we can help you through this episode."
I switch off the phone and drop it back into my purse, my hands shaking with a new kind of fear. The light turns green, and I press the accelerator harder than necessary, needing to be farther away, somewhere Richard and his constructed narratives can't reach me.
I drive for hours, watching as the gas gauge dips dangerously low. The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the snow-covered landscape.
My body alternates between burning hot and freezing cold, adrenaline and fear coursing through me in waves. My hair has fallen from its elegant arrangement, pins digging into my scalp like tiny accusatory fingers.
When I see the sign for Whitetail Falls, something inside me sighs with relief. I've never been here before, but the name alone sounds like sanctuary. Small, twinkling lights line the main street as I enter the town, strung between lampposts and wrapping around bare tree branches. Shop windows glow with warmth, displaying wreaths, pine garlands, and glittering ornaments.
The streets are quiet, most businesses already closed for the evening. Snow starts to fall again, delicate flakes dancing in my headlights. The gas light blinks on, a warning that I can't go much further. I spot a small garage, its lights still on despite the hour.
"Gray Automotive," reads the sign above the open bay doors. I pull in, the car sputtering slightly as I park.
I sit for a moment, suddenly aware of how completely I've severed my previous life.
I have no plan, no destination beyond this moment. I have my wallet with some cash and cards, my phone (though I dare not turn it on), and nothing else but the ruined wedding dress on my back.
My stomach twists with a new kind of fear, not the suffocating dread of the bridal suite, but the vertigo of absolute freedom and absolute uncertainty.
The cold seeps into the car as the engine stops. I have no choice but to get out. My legs shake as I step onto the snow-covered pavement, my ruined shoes immediately soaked through.
A noise from the garage makes me look up. A man emerges, wiping his hands on a red shop rag.
He's tall and broad-shouldered, wearing dark work pants and a thermal shirt with the sleeves pushed up despite the cold. His movements are precise and economical as he approaches, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to concern when he takes me in fully.
"Are you okay?" His voice is deep and steady, without the polished edge I've grown accustomed to in Richard's circles.
I open my mouth to say yes, to apologize for intruding, to ask about gas… but nothing comes out. My lower lip trembles, and I realize I'm shivering violently, partly from cold and partly from the aftermath of adrenaline and fear.
Without hesitation, he shrugs off his heavy work coat and drapes it around my shoulders. The warmth from the material and from his body heat still lingering in the fabric makes me tremble harder.
"I'm Arthur," he says simply, as if finding runaway brides in wedding dresses is an everyday occurrence. "Arthur Gray."
"Lori," I manage to whisper. "Lori Parker."
He doesn't ask what I'm doing here or why I'm in a wedding dress. He doesn't tilt his head with that particular expression of concern that actually means he thinks I'm unstable. He simply nods, his eyes direct but not invasive.
"You're freezing," he observes, no judgment in his tone. "Let's get you inside."
He doesn't touch me or try to guide me, just stands steady until I take a step toward the small office attached to the garage. The door opens to reveal a surprisingly tidy space with a desk, a small sofa against one wall, and a space heater humming in the corner.
"Sit," he says, gesturing to the sofa. "I'll get some coffee."
I sink down onto the worn cushions, still wrapped in his coat. The space heater bathes my frozen feet in blessed warmth.
Arthur returns with a steaming mug, which he places in my hands. "It's hot. Be careful."
I nod, wrapping my fingers around the ceramic, savoring the heat that seeps into my palms.
He doesn't hover or stare. He simply sits in the desk chair, giving me space while remaining present.
The quiet consideration in this simple act breaks something in me. Tears slip down my cheeks, cutting through the makeup. I try to brush them away, embarrassed.
"I ran," I confess, my voice small in the quiet office. "From my wedding. Today. I just... got in my car and drove until I couldn't anymore."
Arthur nods, his expression serious but not alarmed. "Sometimes running is the right thing to do."
