We fought for the right to be together. And in the end, against all resistance, we won.
Our wedding day felt like the start of a second life. I felt young again. She smiled the entire day, radiant and gentle. I truly believed that only happiness waited for us.
That night, in our room, my hands trembling with care, I began to unbutton her wedding dress.
And then I saw it.
Under the lace, deep, fresh wounds crossed her back.
I froze. My breath caught in my chest. She turned her face away, tears shining in her eyes.
“It was my father,” she whispered. “All this time… he beat me. He said I was a disgrace to him and to the family.”
Something broke inside me.
All those days when we fought for our love—she had been paying for it with her body, in silence. I felt pain, rage, and shame crash over me at once.
I held her carefully, afraid even my touch might hurt her, and I said the only words that mattered:
“You will never be alone again. I swear to you, I will protect you.”
That night was not the beginning of a simple, happy marriage.
It was a vow.
For the rest of my life, I would stand by her side—and never allow anyone to hurt her again.
