I thought I knew who I was marrying. Ethan seemed like the answer to every prayer I’d whispered in the quiet moments. We were newly engaged, dreaming about wedding colors, honeymoon destinations, and baby names that made us smile and sometimes cry. Life felt like a fairytale—and Ethan was the prince I believed I’d been waiting for.
Then one morning, everything changed.
I stepped outside and froze. Spray-painted across Ethan’s car in bold letters were the words: “You picked the wrong guy, gave him the wrong finger.” It was shocking—angry and deeply personal. My heart raced as I went inside and confronted Ethan.
He dismissed it as a prank—maybe some neighborhood kids or someone with a grudge. But his voice cracked just slightly, his eyes avoided mine. Something inside me shifted. Doubt crept in.
Determined to understand, I turned to our neighbors, Megan and her brother Jay. Their security cameras faced the street. Together, we watched footage from the night before. A figure in a hoodie appeared, spray-painting the car. The face was hidden, but the message was clear: someone wanted to hurt us.
That night, I found a message on Ethan’s phone about a “private meeting.” He’d told me he was working late. My stomach sank. The pieces didn’t add up. I decided to follow him.
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