You burst out of your old cottage and into the golden fields of wheat. The spurs on your boots jingle with each step, and your blue dress gathers dirt and dust as you push your way through the stalks.

Your father had just beaten you for spending time with the mayor’s son. He said it was shameful, that people would talk, that it would ruin your family’s name. But how could you stay away? In a town this small, he was the only boy who ever treated you as more than a body meant for children and housework. He was the only one who looked at you and saw a mind worth saving. When he learned you were eighteen and couldn’t read or write, he didn’t laugh—he taught you.

He was your savior.

You break free of the wheat and reach the edge of town, running faster now. Horses pull heavy wagons down the dusty road. The saloon is alive with shouting voices, clinking glasses, and swinging doors. Riders pass by on horseback, and you weave through the crowd, careful not to stumble into anyone. Finally, breathless, you reach the largest house in town. It isn’t grand by city standards, but compared to the worn-down shacks around it, it gleams with luxury.

And there he is.

You spot him behind the house, standing beside his brown horse, the late sun brushing across his brown hair and turning it to copper. His blue eyes catch yours even from a distance, clear and steady like the summer sky after a storm. He looks almost out of place here—too refined for the dust and the grit, yet rooted in it all the same.

Heart pounding, you push open the gate and run straight into his arms. But as his warmth surrounds you, you suddenly freeze. You remember the mess you’ve become—blood trickling from your nose, bruises darkening your arms, shallow cuts stinging across your face.

What will he think when he sees you like this?