FINDING ELENA

ELENA

I stirred awake from my short nap as the car slowed down, the tires scrunching against the ground.

We left Essex before noon, and our destination was the Boston Logan International Airport, from where I'll be taking a flight to Paris to attend culinary school.

My dad was driving. I was excited he was finally letting me pursue my dream like my mom made him promise on her deathbed.

For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine my future as a world-class chef traveling the world and learning different food cultures. I felt intense gratitude for the opportunity. This might just be the best day of my life.

I glanced over at him. He didn’t return my gaze, but I could see the crease on his forehead and deep sadness in his eyes.

My chest tightened in guilt.

“Come on, Dad,” I started, “I'm going to be okay. I'll call you every night and come back whenever I can.”

Before I got any response, he veered the car off the main road and kept driving. I looked out the window, puzzled.

We shouldn't be going this way on this trip.

“Are we stopping by somewhere?”

The expression on his face, though now unreadable, worsened my feelings.

And still, he said nothing.

Then he brought the car to a stop in front of the City Hall in Lawrence.

Two men leaned on a black sedan talking. I recognized one - Brad Hawkins. The cop who rescued me a month ago from two men who were going to hurt me.

What was he doing here?

He and the other man wore black suits. Brad always had the right kind of smile; genuine, kind. But right now, the devilish smirk settling on the corner of his mouth made my skin crawl.

I glanced over at my father.

“What's going on, Dad?” I asked quietly, almost whispering. “What are we doing here?”

He finally turned to me. The look in his eyes was a mix of pain, helplessness, and apology… the same one he had while Mom's life slipped away.

His jaw clenched, and he seemed to be holding back the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Elena, I owe a lot to the wrong people,” he said softly.

“Owe?” I echoed my confusion and anxiety, almost palpable at his words. “You got Mom's life insurance. Why would you-”

“It just happened, alright? But this man, Hawkins, has been helping us and said he could make all the debts go away… if you'll marry him.”

My heart lurched.

“Wait, what?” I asked in utter shock.

“They'll kill me if I can't pay them back. And they'll hurt you too,” he continued. “It’s best this way, Elena. Trust me.”

“Trust you? I glared at him, my eyes watering fast. “Dad, you were supposed to bring me to the airport. You helped me pack for Paris and-” I stopped mid-sentence. My eyes fell on my dress.

It was a simple white flowing dress.

My father had bought it as a going-away gift and insisted I wore it this morning.

My heart sank as clarity slapped me in the face.

It was never a gift.

It was my wedding gown.

My pulse roared in my ears. I couldn’t breathe. For a moment, I thought I'd be sick.

I looked back at the men who obviously were waiting for us. The other man brushed something off Brad's shoulder.

Tears slipped freely down my cheeks as I returned my gaze to my father.

“Dad, please don't do this to me.” I grabbed his hand. “I'll get another job. I'll work harder, and we can pay the debts. This will ruin me- please, Dad.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Elena.” His voice cracked. “I’m your father. You will do as I say.”

For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move. I couldn't think.

The air inside the car felt too thick to breathe.

My father’s words replayed in my head, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Outside, Brad Hawkins started toward us, his gait slow and assured, like a man who’d already won. The other man stayed by the car, lighting a cigarette, his disinterest somehow more terrifying.

“Dad, please,” I whispered. “You promised Mom-”

He flinched at her name, eyes darting away. His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. “Don’t,” he said roughly. “Don’t use her against me.”

A shadow fell over my window.

Brad rapped his knuckle lightly against the half-wound glass, smiling as though this were some polite visit.

Up close, he smelled of cologne and cold steel.

“Ready for our big day?” he asked, almost sticking his head through the window, his voice smooth and cruel.

My stomach flipped.

I turned to my father one last time, searching for any trace of the man who’d once tucked me in during bedtimes.

But all I saw was guilt and fear. He didn't meet my eyes; his gaze slid past me to my door.

“Open the door, Elena,” he murmured.

I shook my head, tears blurring my vision. “No. You can’t make me,” I said stubbornly, in spite of myself.

Brad's hand rested casually on the door handle. “You heard him,” he said, his grin widening. “Don’t keep your husband waiting.”

Husband.

The word made me cringe.

I yanked the seatbelt tighter, my fingers trembling as if that could anchor me to safety.

My father leaned closer, voice breaking. “Please, Elena. If you love me-”

I looked at him then.

And at that moment, I knew.

He wasn’t saving me. He was saving himself.

A sob tore from my throat, raw and broken. “I hate you,” I spat. “I wish it was you who died.”

His eyes widened at the sting of the words, but before he could respond, Brad opened the door, leaned over me, and unhooked the seatbelt.

I shut my eyes, holding my breath and wishing this could just pass like a bad dream.

Then his hand clamped around my arm. His grip was firm and possessive.

The world tilted, and sunlight spilled harsh and white on my face as he pulled me out.

My knees buckled, gravel bit into my palms as I stumbled to steady myself.

The birdsong, distant traffic, the soft click of Brad shutting the car door behind me…

All sounded wrong. It was too normal for what was happening.

Brad's shadow fell over me.

His hand brushed invisible dirt from my shoulder in mock tenderness.

“Careful darling,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you getting injured on your wedding day.”

I wanted to scream, to claw his face, to run until my lungs burst. But my limbs were frozen between terror and disbelief.

Then my father’s door creaked open. He stepped out slowly, head bowed, avoiding my eyes like the coward he’d become.

“Get her inside,” Brad said to no one in particular, and my father nodded, small and defeated.

Watching the man I had known as a strong and capable protector all my life became a tool for another man broke something in me.

My dream never mattered. I had been sold to a stranger. And I was on my own.

I straightened, wiped my palms against the dress, and forced myself to walk.

Not for my creepy husband-to-be.

Or for my father.

But because standing there shaking in the sunlight made me feel small. I refused to give them that satisfaction.

Brad's smirk widened as I passed him, as if he already knew he’d won.

But I kept my chin high and my eyes forward, swallowing the scream clawing up my throat.

Let them think I was broken.

Let them think they'd won.

I’d bury the scream and carry its memory like a promise: this wasn't my forever.