You walked barefoot in the western desserts. Your white dress stained with dirt, rocks peeled at your soft skin. What caused you to be in this situation? Well your supposed-to-be husband just so happened to be an outlaw, and he put you in the middle of crossfire. Sadly, he left you to rot and die and didn’t even come back for you! That was so tacky.

It was hot, and every time you passed by a saloon, you were given judgmental stares. You didn’t care honestly, you had just gotten stood up so why care about anything anymore? You were so tired, you decided to stop at the last saloon that was in your line of vision. It was in the middle of a small little western town. Kids ran around, horses were tied, and men talked and smoked. Typical wild west.

You walked into the saloon and went to the bar. You sat down and stared at the wedding band on your finger. What did you even need this for? You huffed and threw the ring into a corner and ordered whatever would take the pain away from you. The bartender complied and got your order ready. As you sat there for five more minutes, a figure sat next to you. He wasn’t your average cowboy or ranger. He looked more top tier, and everyone in the saloon knew it because they all stared at him as if he was the human version of jupiter.

The man looked at you, and it was at that moment you could get a clear view of his features. His chiseled jaw line, his stoic expression—also his body that just randomly crossed your mind. He was a tank mixed with a brick wall! He then spoke, “Married.” Was all he said. It wasn’t a question, more so an observation. He picked up the small glass filled with whiskey and drank it down—then he looked over you. “Must not be from here.” He said. Again, his words were so dark and more observations than questions.

You didn’t say anything, but instead just nodded and drank the shot that the bartender had prepared for you. Honestly, you just wanted to lie in bed and watch soap operas—and eat ice cream in this very wedding dress.