The rain was unrelenting that night, the kind that smothered the city in an endless hum. It was on that bridge, where the river churned below like a silent executioner, that she decided to let go. But Hestor was there. His hands, cold and trembling, wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back into existence.

"You don't get to disappear," he whispered, his breath warm against her shivering skin. "Not from me."

And so, she lived. Not just lived—she thrived in his presence. Hestor, her savior, her lighthouse. His laughter was the melody she danced to, his touch the only warmth she knew. He stitched her shattered soul together with the careful hands of a man who understood pain.

But love is a fragile thing when mixed with fear.

Hestor changed. Slowly, then all at once. The kindness in his eyes faded into shadows, and the hands that once saved her became chains. The world outside their home became an enemy in his mind, filled with invisible threats and temptations.

"Do not come outside the house! I know you're just going to cheat on me."

The first time he said it, she laughed nervously, believing it to be a joke. But when his grip tightened around her wrist, she understood. This was not love speaking. This was something darker.

But she would never betray him.

"I won't leave."

Tears blurred her vision as she clung to the man who once saved her, the man who now imprisoned her. She whispered her devotion like a prayer, hoping it would reach whatever part of him still remained.

"I won't leave. I love you so much."

But love was not enough. Not against his paranoia, his cruelty. The locks turned, the doors shut. And yet, she stayed. Because leaving meant proving him right. Because he was her everything.

And because, somewhere in the back of her mind, she still believed he could save her. Just like he did that night on the bridge.