“I’m against this,” an older stranger said, stopping my wedding. What followed shocked everyone—my fiancé was arrested.

Not texted. Called.

We met for a walk in the park that afternoon. It was one of those conversations that feels effortless but leaves you emotionally exhausted in the best way. We talked about everything: my dream of opening a bakery one day, his fear of deep water, childhood memories, favorite foods, the quiet insecurities we usually keep hidden.

It felt… easy. Too easy.

We stopped beneath an enormous oak tree, its branches twisting outward like arms frozen mid-embrace. Ethan turned to face me, took my hands, and said something that made my breath catch.

“Cassidy,” he said softly, “I think you’re the girl I’ve been searching for. Will you be my girlfriend?”

Two days.

We had known each other for two days.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, alarm bells flickered — faint, distant. But they were drowned out by the intoxicating rush of being wanted so completely, so confidently. It felt like stepping onto a train already moving at full speed… and deciding not to ask where it was headed.

“Yes,” I whispered.

That single word changed everything.

What followed felt like a modern fairytale unfolding in fast-forward. Ethan was attentive, affectionate, endlessly affirming. He called me his future. Five months after that afternoon under the oak tree, we were planning a wedding.

He proposed in a crowded Italian restaurant — noisy, chaotic, romantic in its own way. He dropped to one knee right beside the table, looked at me like nothing else existed, and asked me to marry him.

I cried. I laughed. I said yes again and again, dizzy from love and momentum.

Looking back, I know what you’re thinking.

Why so fast?

Because I was floating inside a beautiful, blinding bubble. Everything felt cinematic, unreal, charmed. And Ethan seemed flawless. Waiting felt unnecessary — even foolish — when happiness felt this absolute.

But shortly after the engagement, the cracks began to whisper.

Ethan became obsessed with the wedding gifts.

Not the ceremony.
Not the vows.
Not the life we were building.

The gifts.

He talked constantly about the registry — the stand mixer, the crystal glasses, the high-end appliances.
He grew animated when discussing what we might receive, his excitement sharp and almost… hungry.

One night, scrolling through the registry, he said casually, “We should definitely add a professional espresso machine.”

I laughed, trying to keep things light.
“Ethan, we barely drink espresso. The French press works just fine.”

His smile didn’t disappear.

It tightened.

Just for a moment.

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