The night of my wedding should have been the happiest moment of my life. I sat at the dressing table, my lipstick still untouched, listening as the distant echoes of celebration outside faded into silence. My husbands family had retired for the night. The bridal suite was adorned with lavish decorations, golden light spilling over crimson silk ribbons. Yet my stomach twisted with unease, a shadow creeping into my heart.
A faint knock rattled the door. I stiffened. Who would come at this hour? Cautiously, I cracked it open. There stood the old housemaid, her eyes wide with urgency. Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with fear:
*”If you want to live, change into plain clothes and slip out the back door now. Go, before its too late.”*
My breath caught. Before I could speak, she pressed a finger to her lips, her gaze pleading. This was no jest. A cold dread coiled around me, my fingers clutching the fabric of my wedding dress. Just then, I heard my new husbands footsteps approaching down the hall.
I had seconds to decide: stay or run.
I tore off the dress, shoved it beneath the bed, and fled into the night. The alley outside was icy, the wind biting. The housemaid pushed open a rusted gate and hissed, *”Run straightdont look back. Someones waiting.”*
I ran until my lungs burned. Beneath a flickering streetlamp, a motorbike idled. A stranger with weathered hands yanked me onto the seat, and we vanished into the dark. I clung to him, tears streaking my face, too numb to speak.
An hour later, we stopped at a cottage on the outskirts of town. The man led me inside, murmuring, *”Stay here. Youre safe for now.”*
I crumpled onto a chair, my mind racing. Why had the maid risked everything? What horrors lay behind my husbands smile?
The night stretched on, endless. Every car engine, every distant bark of a dog sent my pulse spiking. The man sat on the porch, smoke curling from his cigarette, his face grim in the dim glow. I didnt dare ask questions, but the look in his eyes told me enoughpity, and something darker.
At dawn, the maid arrived. I dropped to my knees, sobbing my thanks. She hauled me up, her voice rough:
*”You need the truth if youre to survive.”*
The truth was worse than I imagined. My husbands family wasnt just wealthythey were rotten. Behind their polished façade lay gambling debts, shady dealings. My marriage had been a transaction, a way to settle scores.
The maid confessed my husbands historyviolence, addiction. Two years prior, another bride had died in that house, her death buried under money and influence. Had I stayed, Id have been next.
A cold realisation settled over me. His grip at the altar hadnt been nervesit was a warning.
The strangerthe maids nephewcut in, *”You cant go back. Theyll hunt you. The longer you wait, the worse it gets.”*
But where could I go? No money, no phone, no passportall taken after the vows, *”to avoid distractions.”*
The maid pressed a pouch into my hands: crumpled banknotes, an old mobile, my ID. I wept, struck dumb by her bravery. Id escaped a cage, but the road ahead was shrouded in fog.
I called my mother, my voice breaking. The maid warned me to lie*”Theyll track you.”* My mother sobbed, begging me to stay alive, promising wed find a way.
Days passed in hiding. The nephew brought food; the maid returned to the main house by day, playing her part. I lived like a ghost, haunted by questions: *Why me? Could I ever be free?*
Then, one evening, the maid returned with grim news: *”Theyre suspicious. You must leave soon.”*
My pulse roared. Running wasnt enoughI had to fight.
That night, I told them, *”I wont hide forever. Im going to the police.”*
The nephew shook his head. *”Without proof, theyll bury you. Money talks.”*
But the maid leaned in. *”Ive kept thingsrecords the master hid. Enough to ruin them. But getting them wont be easy.”*
We hatched a plan. The next night, the maid slipped into the house as usual. Outside, I waited with the nephew.
At first, all was quiet. Then, as she passed a bundle of papers through the gate, a figure lungedmy husband. He snarled, *”What the hell are you doing?”*
I froze. It was over. But the maid threw herself between us, shouting, *”Enough! How many more will you destroy?”*
The nephew grabbed the documents, dragging me away. Behind us, fists flew, curses rang out. *”Run!”* he barked. *”This is your only shot!”*
We sprinted to the police station. At first, they scoffeduntil they opened the files. Proof of loan-sharking, bribes, even photos of secret meetings in that cursed house.
In the days that followed, my husbands family was raided, their names splashed across the papers. The maid survived, bruised but alive. I fell to my knees before her, weeping.
*”You saved me. I can never repay you.”*
She smiled, her wrinkles deepening. *”Just live. Thats payment enough.”*
Months later, I started anew in another city. The nights are still long, the memories sharp. But Im free.
Some weddings begin with joy. Others with a fight for survival. Mine was the latterbut thanks to her, I lived to tell the tale.
