Chapter 2: Bitter Truths in the Morning Light

2

I was stunned and scared. My gaze instinctively landed on Caleb’s large hand, still tightly gripping the prayer card. Not long ago, that hand had wandered all over my body. My heart stuttered—did I want to reach out, or run? Though I was embarrassed and sore, my heart was happy, fluttering in my chest. After all, Caleb Ford is the man I’ve liked for years. Our families are close and often visit each other, and tonight was no different. I went to deliver some quilt patterns to Mrs. Ford, but as soon as I knocked, Caleb pulled me into his arms.

His palm was burning hot, and his eyes stared at me as if he didn’t recognize me, gazing for a long time. I was flustered and tried to push him away, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Caleb, what are you doing?” I managed to gasp, my voice trembling. Before I could finish, his scorching lips, tinged with whiskey, pressed down on mine. My struggles were nothing against his strength—completely ineffective. What happened next was chaotic and unforgettable. Caleb was like a wild animal, holding me tight, his body heavy and warm, the heat between us overwhelming and inescapable.

The memory hit me in flashes—his breath warm against my ear, the rough scrape of his stubble on my cheek, the way his hands trembled when he touched me. The old quilt patterns slipped from my fingers, landing in a heap on the entryway floor. For a moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed down to the creak of the floorboards and the thunder of my heartbeat. I remembered feeling guilty and confused, wanting to stop but unable to resist, the mix of shame and longing twisting inside me.

I thought he was just drunk and lost control. But according to the subtitles, he was drugged and mistook me for his beloved Savannah Langley, which led to this unbelievable night. My joy turned cold and heavy, disbelief swirling in my chest. I put my clothes back on, one piece at a time, shivering as the chill in the room seeped through my skin. I had no idea where Mr. and Mrs. Ford were tonight. But I knew, if the subtitles were true, no one else could ever find out about this. I don’t want to marry a man who doesn’t love me. Even less do I want to die for hurting someone.

The room felt suddenly small and suffocating. My hands shook as I buttoned my jeans, the rough denim scraping my skin, the cold air prickling my arms. I caught a glimpse of myself in the cracked bathroom mirror—eyes red, lips swollen, a bottle of Suave shampoo sitting on the sink—and felt a wave of shame wash over me. I tried to steady my breathing, telling myself it would be okay, but the fear wouldn’t budge. The silence in the house was heavy, like the air before a tornado.

[What’s going on? Why did the side character get up? Shouldn’t she be snuggling the male lead, sleeping soundly, then pretending to be innocent in the morning and forcing their parents to discuss marriage?]

[Is she crying? Strictly speaking, tonight isn’t really Mariah’s fault...]

[She’s just playing innocent! Who told her to go over there? She set this whole thing up—she stole the male lead’s virginity!]

The overwhelming subtitles all condemned me, siding with the female lead. I wiped away my tears, my nails digging into my palm. Holding my aching waist, I limped home in the dark, biting back sobs. I told myself: just treat it as a dream.

The walk back was cold and lonely, the gravel crunching under my boots. A stray dog barked somewhere in the distance, and every shadow seemed to stretch longer than usual. I hugged myself tight, trying to keep the night air from biting through my sweatshirt. The words from those subtitles rang in my ears, louder than the wind, making me feel small and unwanted in my own hometown.