---- Chapter 9 The dress | had worn for our anniversary dinner was torn to shreds. The sound of the fabric ripping was unnaturally loud in the confines of the van. Just as the last of my hope died with the unanswered call, my phone, still clutched in my hand, buzzed. A notification. One of the men laughed. "Look at that. Someone sent you a video." He snatched the phone from my hand and held it up. The video played. It was filmed from the passenger seat of a car. Ethan was driving. Ilene was beside him, holding the phone. My own phone was on the dashboard, ringing, the screen lit up with the name "My Rory." Ethan' s hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He kept glancing at the ringing phone, his jaw clenched. He started to reach for it, then pulled his hand back. Again and again. A silent, agonizing battle. But he never answered. Then Ilene' s voice, sickly sweet. "Don't answer it, Ethan. She's ---- just trying to ruin our time together. She's always so needy." She picked up his phone. "Let's just turn it off, okay? So we can have some peace." Ethan' s face was a mask of conflicting emotions. He looked tormented. But after a long, silent moment, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. The video ended. The world went white. The sounds of the van, the leering laughter of the men, it all faded away. There was only a roaring in my ears and a pain in my chest so immense | thought my heart had physically burst. He hadn't just chosen her. He had actively, consciously, chosen to abandon me. He had heard my call for help and he had turned his back. My arms went limp. My will to fight evaporated. My eyes were empty, dead. The man holding the phone seemed pleased with my reaction. "See? He doesn't want you." He tossed the phone aside and leaned over me, his face a grotesque mask of lust. He was distracted, confident that he had broken me. ---- But in that moment of absolute despair, something else rose up. Not hope. Something colder. Harder. Rage. As he fumbled with his zipper, | gathered all my remaining strength. | brought my knee up hard into his groin. He howled in pain and doubled over. In that split second, | scrambled away from him. | lunged for the sliding door of the van. It wasn't latched properly. | threw my body against it. It slid open. Without a second thought, | jumped. | hit the asphalt with a bone-jarring impact. The world spun. | rolled, gravel and dirt tearing at my exposed skin. Pain shot through my entire body. My head hit the ground hard. But | was out. | was free. | could hear the van screeching to a halt behind me. Shouts. Curses. | forced myself to my feet, stumbling, my vision blurry. Blood was warm on my face. | ran. | didn't know where | was going. | just ran into the ---- darkness, into the rain that had started to fall again. | could hear them behind me, getting closer. | ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out. | saw flashing lights up ahead. Red and blue. A police car, parked on the side of the road. "Help!" | screamed, my voice a raw croak. "Please, help me!" A uniformed officer turned, his eyes widening at the sight of me. Bloody, half-naked, stumbling out of the darkness. He started running toward me. The world tilted, and then everything went black. | woke up in a hospital bed. Again. My body was a symphony of pain. Bruises, cuts, a sprained ankle. A doctor told me | had another mild concussion. They wanted to keep me for observation. The first thing | did when they left me alone was call my parents. "The papers came through," my dad's voice was a lifeline in the darkness. "The immigration visa was approved this morning." He paused. "I already bought the tickets. We leave tomorrow night." ---- | closed my eyes, the tears that came were not of sorrow, but of profound, bone-deep relief. It was over. | was getting out. | left the hospital that afternoon against medical advice. | went back to the hotel, grabbed my passport and the few belongings | had there, and went straight to my parents "house. The next day, | had one last stop to make. | walked into the house, my house, one last time. Ethan was there. He was standing in the living room, dressed in the same suit he wore on our first date. He was holding his passport and our old marriage certificates, the thirty-seven of them, in a neat pile. He was smiling, a hopeful, boyish smile. "Rory," he said, his voice full of relief. "Where have you been? | was so worried." He walked toward me, his smile widening. "I've handled everything with Ilene. Her new treatment is starting. She's going to be fine. We can finally get remarried. For good this time." | looked at his face, at the suit, at the papers in his hand. He ---- was ready to start the cycle all over again. | felt nothing. No anger. No pain. Just a vast, cold emptiness. "And then what, Ethan?" | asked, my voice devoid of emotion. "We remarry. She has a nightmare. She threatens to jump off a bridge. We get divorced again? For the 39th time?" His smile faltered. He frowned. "Don't be so pessimistic, Rory. | told you, she's getting better." He reached for my hand. "l promise, it will be different this time." Just then, his phone rang. It was llene's private nurse. Her panicked voice was audible even from where | stood. "Mr. Bruce! It's Ilene! She had a nightmare! She's hysterical! She's asking for you! You have to come!" Ethan's face went through a familiar series of expressions. Annoyance. Resignation. Guilt. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. "Just give me half a day, Rory. Just this one last time. I'll go calm her down, and then I'll meet you at the courthouse. We'll get remarried. I'll be there. | promise. We'll be together, forever." He grabbed his coat and rushed out the door, already talking into his phone in that soothing voice he reserved only for her. ---- | stood in the entryway and watched him go. He ran to his car, fumbling with his keys in his haste. He was so afraid of being late. So afraid of upsetting her. | remembered when he used to run like that for me. When | was in college and had a sudden craving for a specific milk tea from across campus, he would sprint the whole way, his face flushed and smiling, just to bring it to me before the ice melted. | used to think he would always run toward me. But | was wrong. For years, he had been running away from me, toward her. | turned and went back into the bedroom. | pulled my packed suitcase from under the bed. | took one last look around the room. Her things were everywhere. Her perfume on the vanity. Her robe hanging in the bathroom. Her scent on the pillows of our bed. This house was haunted by her. | smiled, a real smile this time. It felt strange on my face. | took a piece of paper and a pen from the nightstand. | wrote a short note and left it on his pillow. Then | walked out of the house and didn't look back. The note said: ---- Ethan, This is our 39th divorce. It is also our last. There will be no remarriage. I'm setting you free. Go be with her. You deserve each other. | am going to find someone who will run toward me. Goodbye. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!