Page 4 of Crushed Vow

Footsteps passed. Keys jingled. A figure paused, turned... and then walked away.

I didn’t breathe again until the sound faded.

We crept past the nurses’ lounge and through a utility door.

He had memorized every turn.

When the back door opened and the cold air hit my face, I almost wept.

Now in Ethan’s car, I curled into the seat like a child escaping war.

“That bastard,” I spat. “My own father forged a fucking psych history and locked me away like trash. And the worst part is... it worked. I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

Ethan’s grip on the wheel tightened. “A year in that place... I can’t even imagine.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

I turned to the window, pressing my forehead against the glass. “It’s not your fault.”

“You’ll be safe now,” he promised. “My place is secure. No one’s finding you unless we want them to.”

We pulled into a gated neighborhood. Ethan’s house stood tall and quiet under the moonlight. He parked gently.

“I found you using everything I had,” he said. “My tech gear traced back to the ward’s encrypted patient records. They tried to bury your name under fake aliases. But I found it.”

My throat tightened. “I can’t thank you enough, Ethan.”

I stepped out, blinking at the open sky.

Air.

Freedom.

Tears spilled—hot, silent. The cool night air kissed my skin like something holy. My chest rose, lungs expanding with the first full breath I’d taken in a year. It felt too good. Too real. I choked on a sob, the tears of joy burning just as deep as the pain.

Ethan stood beside me—tall at 6’2”, lanky but grounded, like a lighthouse in the storm I’d been drowning in. Without saying a word, he walked me to his front door, then led me into his loft.

It was nothing like the ward.

Exposed brick. Warm, amber light. The faint hum of an old record player. It smelled like cinnamon and safety. My ribs unclenched.

He showed me to a guest room tucked toward the back. It was small, but clean and calm. A soft bed, crisp white sheets, a private bathroom, and a window overlooking the city skyline like something out of a dream.

“Get settled,” he said gently. “You’re safe here. No cameras. No locks. No guards on patrol. Just... rest.”

“I don’t know how to be safe anymore...” My voice trembled as I stared at the floor, hands twitching at my sides. “But thank you for trying.”

I swallowed hard, eyes burning.

“I just... I need to wash that place off me.”

He nodded.

I went straight to the bathroom.

I peeled off the psych uniform like it was poisoned skin and stepped into the shower. The water was warm, but mybody remained cold, trembling beneath the spray. I stood there for minutes—eyes shut, arms wrapped tight around my chest—trying to feel human again.

But the memories came anyway. Slipping through the cracks like steam.

There was a time in the psych ward when they strapped me to a gurney, wrists biting into the leather restraints. I was screaming, panicked, and a nurse leaned down and murmured, “You’ll calm down after the sedative. You girls always do.”