Page 143 of Stolen Vows

“For you.”

Her entire body seems to sag, like someone just let the air out of her. “Oh.”

I watch her for a long moment, waiting. Hoping.

“You could come with me,” I offer quietly.

She makes a choked sound—half-scoff, half-laugh—but she won’t look at me. She just stares at the wall, nibbling on the side of her thumb like she used to when we were kids and she was nervous.

“Not after everything I did,” she murmurs.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You don’t have to stay in this, Florence.”

She blinks rapidly, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

She finally meets my eyes, and I see it then. The exhaustion, the fear, the weight of something so much bigger than just her own choices.

“This life, it’s not something you just walk away from,” she whispers. “You think I haven’t thought about it? That I haven’t dreamed about it? Every day, I imagine getting in the car and driving away. Just disappearing. But I can’t. Because there’s always someone watching. Always someone keeping track. And even if I did—” Her voice breaks. She presses her lips together for a second before continuing, “Where would I go?”

I stare at her, my heart twisting. She’s trapped. Just like I used to be.

The difference is, I left. I clawed my way out at every opportunity.

And she . . . she didn’t.

“You could come with me,” I say again, softer this time. “We’ll figure it out. I have a home now. I have a life outside of them. You could too.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is.”

Florence exhales a shuddery breath, dragging her hands through her perfect, sleek hair, mussing it in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen.

“It should be,” she whispers. “But it’s not.”

Her fingers press against her lower abdomen, barely perceptible, but I see it. The unconscious gesture, the way she shields it like she’s holding onto something fragile, something only she knows.

I inhale sharply. "So it’s true."

Florence’s throat bobs as she swallows. "Yes."

A flicker of something I can’t quite name twists inside me. Not anger. Not relief. Something heavier. For the first time in my life, I don’t know how to reach her.

I don’t know if I ever could.

I take in her face, her posture, the slight tremble in her hands. And I know, deep in my bones, that this is the closest she’s ever been to breaking free.

But she’s still not ready, and maybe she never will be.

“I love you, you know.” My voice comes out quieter than I expect, but steady.

Her head jerks up, her lips parting in something like surprise.

I shrug. “I know it doesn’t change anything. But I do.”

A tear slips down her cheek. She swipes it away, fast, like she’s embarrassed it was ever there. “I love you too,” she whispers.

---