She was already there, seated in our usual booth, her dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She was staring at her phone, her jaw tight, her knee bouncing under the table. Nervous. Angry. Both.
The bell chimed as I pushed through the door, and her head snapped up.
For a moment, neither of us moved. We just stared at each other across the restaurant—the best friend I'd left behind and the woman I'd become.
Then she was out of the booth and crossing the floor, and I was meeting her halfway, and we collided in a hug so fierce it drove the breath from my lungs.
"You're here," she said into my hair. "You're actually here. I thought—when you called, I thought maybe—"
"I'm here." I held her tighter, feeling her shoulders shake. "I'm really here, Lisa."
We stood like that for a long moment, two women crying in the middle of a Thai restaurant while the other diners pretended not to notice. When we finally pulled apart, her mascara was smudged, and my cheeks were wet.
"Come on," she said, grabbing my hand. "We're going to need wine for this conversation."
The waiter brought a bottle without being asked—he'd seen us enough times to know our usual order. Lisa poured two glasses, then looked at mine and stopped.
"Wait. You said on the phone—you're pregnant?"
"I am." I touched my stomach, the small swell now visible under my loose sweater. "About fifteen weeks now."
"So no wine for you." She pulled my glass toward herself and took a long drink from her own. "Great. I'll just have to get drunk enough for both of us."
"Lisa—"
"No, hang on. Let me just—" She set down her glass and pressed her palms flat on the table, visibly gathering herself. "I need you to start from the beginning. And I need you to tell me everything. Not the sanitized version you gave me on the phone. Everything."
I'd known this was coming. Had rehearsed what I'd say, how much I could reveal without putting her in danger. But sitting across from her now, seeing the hurt and confusion in her eyes, the carefully prepared explanations felt hollow.
"I can't tell you everything," I said quietly. "Some of it—Lisa, some of it would put you at risk. And I won't do that."
"Put me at risk? What does that even mean?"
"It means the man I married lives in a dangerous world. A world with enemies, violence, consequences for knowing too much." I reached across the table and took her hand. "I love you. You're my best friend. And because I love you, there are things I can't share."
She stared at me, something shifting in her expression. "Jesus, Gaby. What did you get yourself into?"
"Something I never expected. Something that started as—" I stopped, choosing my words carefully. "I didn't choose it. At first. The circumstances that brought us together were... not what I would have wanted."
"That's deliberately vague."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Lisa was quiet for a moment, her fingers tightening around mine. "He hurt you. This husband. Whoever he is. He did something to you."
"He took me from my life." The admission came out steady, calm. "Against my will. And then things became... complicated."
"Complicated." She said the word flatly. "You were kidnapped. Is that what you're telling me? You were fucking kidnapped, and now you're married to the guy who took you?"
"Yes."
The silence stretched between us. Lisa pulled her hand back, reaching for her wine, draining half the glass in one swallow.
"I should call the police," she said. "I should—God, Gaby. Stockholm syndrome. That's what this is. You've been brainwashed, traumatized—"
"I haven't been brainwashed." I kept my voice even, though my heart was racing. "I know how it sounds. I know it seems insane. But what I feel for him—what we have—it's real, Lisa. He's not what you'd expect. He's done terrible things, yes. But he's also kind, and protective, and he loves me in a way no one ever has."
"He kidnapped you."
