A sob escapes me from the simple relief of being seen, of having my actions validated rather than questioned or diagnosed.
More tears follow until I'm crying openly, my shoulders shaking with the release of tension I've carried for longer than just today.
"I'm sorry," I gasp between sobs. "I don't even know you, and I'm falling apart in your office."
"You're safe here," Arthur says, his voice gentle but firm. The simple statement anchors me, slowing my tears. He reaches for a box of tissues on the desk and offers it to me.
I take one gratefully, wiping at my face. "Thank you," I whisper.
For the first time since overhearing Richard's words, since fleeing the country club, since driving for hours through unfamiliar roads, I feel the knot in my chest begin to loosen.
My breathing steadies, and the trembling in my hands subsides.
"What happens now is up to you," Arthur says, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes are kind but direct, offering no false promises or easy solutions. "But whatever you decide, you don't have to figure it out tonight. And you don't have to figure it out alone."
In the warmth of that small office, with snow falling gently outside and a stranger's coat around my shoulders, I believe him.
Chapter 2 – Arthur
I watch her hands wrapped around the coffee mug, still trembling slightly despite the warmth of the ceramic. She's been crying for a few minutes now, but these aren't the tears of someone breaking. They're the tears of someone who's finally breathing.
"The apartment upstairs isn't much," I tell her quietly. "But it's warm. Private. You can rest there."
She looks up, those brown eyes wide and uncertain. There's makeup streaked down her cheeks and pins hanging loosely from her hair. The wedding dress is stained with slush and dirt around the hem.
"I don't want to impose," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
"You're not." I stand slowly, watchful not to make any sudden movements. She seems steady enough, but I've seen that look before in accident victims, in people who've just escaped danger. The calm is fragile. "Can you make it up the stairs?"
She nods, rising from the sofa. As she takes a step, her knees buckle slightly. I move forward instinctively but stop myself from touching her.
"Sorry," she whispers, steadying herself against the wall. "I think everything's catching up with me."
"Take your time."
I lead her through the back of the garage to the stairs that wind up to my apartment.
I walk a few steps ahead, glancing back occasionally to make sure she's managing the steps in those painful-looking high heels.
The door at the top opens into my living space—a converted attic that's simple but comfortable. The main room serves as both living room and kitchen, with a small hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom. The pitched ceiling makes the space feel cozy rather than cramped.
"Here we are," I say, stepping aside to let her enter.
She hesitates at the threshold, then moves past me into the warmth. I close the door behind us, sealing out the December cold and the world that made her run.
"You can sit," I gesture to the couch. "Or shower first, if you'd prefer. Get out of that dress."
A flush creeps up her neck at my words, and I immediately regret my phrasing.
"I just mean—you must be uncomfortable. I have clothes you can borrow."
She nods, offering a small, grateful smile. "A shower sounds amazing."
I show her to the bathroom, a simple space with white tile and a shower stall. I grab a clean towel from the linen closet and set it on the counter.
"I'll find you something to wear," I tell her, stepping back to give her space. "The hot water takes a minute to come through. Just let it run."
In my bedroom, I dig through my drawers for something that could fit her and be warm enough. I settle on a worn WFFD sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist.
