Masked Hero

Helpless and hopeless, she shut her eyes expecting to hear a deafening splash as her body slammed into the river, but after a few seconds of waiting, nothing came.

She felt something strong, warm and fleshy tightly clamping her wrist as her body swung precariously, half-dangling over the edge. Zara was hesitant as she slowly opened her eyes.

Then she saw him.

Her masked hero.

His other arm was hooked tightly around the cold, wet metal, his muscles straining to hold both himself and Zara steady against the violent pull of the storm.

“Don't fucking let go!” His voice was deep, commanding, yet the tremor beneath it betrayed the fear coiling in his chest.

“You came!” Zara barely responded. Her breath hitched as she stared into the furious waters below, the sheer force of the current making her head spin. She clawed at his arm, desperate to anchor herself to something solid.

The man gritted his teeth, his dark, stormy eyes locked onto hers through the slits of his mask. Rainwater poured down his face, dripping from his jawline and disappearing into the high collar of his coat. Every muscle in his body tensed, veins bulging under the strain as the weight of both their bodies bore down on him.

“Give me your other hand!” he barked. Zara obeyed, their fingers locking in a fierce grip.

With a strained grunt, he shifted his weight and pulled, dragging her upward despite the storm’s fury. Her knees hit the metal edge before she collapsed onto the bridge, trembling and gasping for air.

He crouched down in front of her, letting out a shaky exhale. His broad shoulders rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath, rain streaming down his soaked clothing.

The rain had lessened to a drizzle, the storm finally showing signs of mercy. Zara looked up at him, her vision blurred by rain and tears. Her lips trembled as she tried to form words, but nothing came out. She was too stunned, too shaken to respond.

Before she could thank him, a sharp slap stung her cheek.

“How dare you?” He growled, his brown eyes blazing through the slits of his mask. “He is not even worth it. You are strong. You come from a family who genuinely adores you! You are beautiful! You're smart! And you want to throw that all away by killing yours for him?”

Zara flinched, shocked. Then she scoffed, wiping the rain from her face. “Kill myself? Over Ethan? Please! I'd be damned if I ever think of leaving my kids behind for a waste of space like him!”

His stormy eyes softened for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice rough.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, drenched from the rain.

Upon noticing this, he removed his coat and covered her with it. Even though the exterior was wet, the interior was surprisingly warm.

As he tried to adjust the front to cover her up properly, they locked eyes for a brief moment.

His eyes held something she hadn’t seen in years—warmth. For a moment, it reminded her of Ethan, back when he still cared. Zara held his gaze, studying him intently. There was something familiar about him.

They had crossed paths before.

Since she was 14, Zara had received anonymous birthday gifts every year. Seven years ago, at her wedding reception, she finally caught a glimpse of the man delivering one of them. He wore the same mask.

The gifts never stopped, but after that day, he became impossible to catch—until tonight.

“Do you love me that much? That you’re still so obsessed with me long after I’ve gotten married and had kids.” She asked, curious of his response.

But he ignored her as he buttoned up the coat.

“I liked all your love letters back in college. They were catchy. But I guess I was just too in love with Ethan to notice anyone else. Or maybe it’s because you weren’t brave enough to come out.” She ranted on, hoping he would open up. She really needed someone to talk to. To distract her from her sad reality.

Again, she was welcomed with silence, and as he attempted to move out after helping her buckle up, she swiftly moved her hand, attempting to lift the mask of his face as the suspense on his identity was killing her.

But he caught her arm mid air and shoved it off, “You must have hit your head after the fall.” He said coolly. “I will take you to the hospital.”

He picked her up in bride style and descended down the bridge. Zara was hesitant, but slowly, she wrapped her hands around his frame, resting her shoulder on his sturdy chest as he strode towards his black SUV.

“No birthday presents today?” She asked curiously, her voice fading into a whisper.

“I will give you something better. One that you desperately need this time.” He replied, his head raised high.

***

“Though your vital signs and overall health are in excellent condition, you strained your ankle again. It will take more time to heal and you must not walk without support, at least for the next month or two.” Dr. Martin, her doctor, instructed shortly after she regained her consciousness.

Zara blinked against the harsh fluorescent light. The last thing she remembered was the masked man’s deep voice and the rumble of his car. Now she is here? Alone. How? Even her phone which she had left in her car that was parked at the studio was laying on her bed.

“I have no idea what love letters you are talking about. I am only doing this because I have to.” He had vividly said, before Zara ended the argument during the ride.

“Zavier must have sent him,” she mumbled, disappointed. Her hopes of a secret admirer were gone.

For years, she’d wondered if her secret admirer was real—if someone out there truly saw her. But now, the thought that Zavier, her older brother, was behind it all made her chest ache with bitter disappointment.

“Zara, are you listening?” Dr. Martin's curious voice invaded her train of thoughts, pulling her back to her reality.

She threw a fake smile at him as she responded, “I understand, sir.”

She struggled out of bed and maneuvering into her chair. It had also been fully charged.

“Dr. Martin, how did I get here last night?” She asked curiously.

Surprised by her question, the middle-aged doctor glanced over the file in his hand one more time to be sure she hadn’t missed a thing.

“You came here on your own.” He replied half heartedly. As he began to walk out of the room, he mumbled, “The divorce must have really shook her.”

Zara bit her lower lip to keep her tears at bay. She might have forgotten how messy her divorce was because of the little interaction she had with the masked hero, but was quickly reminded by the whispers and side talks of patients and passerby, as she found her way back home.

At this point, it was even harder getting a cab and after two failed attempts, she decided to use her chair to its fullest.

She tried her best. To not cry. To not falter. Not to fall weak at the sound of the whispers. Instead of thinking about them, she channeled her thoughts into how best to break the news of her divorce with their kids.

But as soon as she pushed the door to the living room of her home, she was welcomed by a hot slap as Beatrice's —Ethan’s mother's hand struck her face.

The slap burned hot against Zara’s cheek, but the sting was nothing compared to the venom in Beatrice’s words.

“You shameless girl! Do you have any idea what you’ve done to this family?” Beatrice barked, her eyes blazing furiously.