The Devil Stole Me From My Wedding

Deborah's P.ov.

"You're getting married, and that is final."

"Daddy, please." My fingers trembled, crushing the edge of the letter. "Stanford accepted me. You said-if I got in-"

"I said nothing of the sort." His voice cracked like a whip across the tiny kitchen, bouncing off the cracked white walls.

The church next door roared in agreement. Applause, shouting, a woman wailing in tongues. The walls were too thin. Everything leaked through.

"Your place is here, Deborah. Not in some godless school, corrupting young women."

"I studied. I prayed. I did everything right. Grandpa said-"

His hand slammed the table.

The letter slipped from my fingers and floated to the floor like it weighed nothing. Like my dreams meant nothing.

"Don't bring your grandfather into this," he growled. "He filled your head with lies."

"It's not lies," I said, my voice shaking. "He believed in me."

"And look where belief got him," my mother snapped, laughing bitterly. "Dead and useless."

I flinched.

"Sit down," Daddy barked. "Wipe that pride off your face. You'll marry the man of God who's chosen you. It is an honor."

An honor.

To be handed off to a man who stared at me like I was meat on a plate.

"He... he creeps me out," I whispered. "He watches me. I'm not ready for marriage. I want to be a doctor-"

"You selfish, ungrateful child!" Mama cut in, arms folded like a barrier. "You should be thanking God a man's even interested in taking you. I prayed and fasted. This is God's answer."

"God didn't choose him," I said, louder this time. "You did."

Silence. My throat burned. My heart thudded painfully.

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you know how many men of God turned away from you? Always tempting them, always in your flesh. No one wanted you. But Pastor Jethro? He sees something in you. You should be grateful."

"Sees something?" I snapped. "I'm not some-"

"Enough!" Daddy stood. His voice filled the room like thunder. "You're coming with me to the church. The families are waiting. You'll smile. Sit beside your husband-to-be. And you will not disgrace me."

Husband-to-be.

The words scalded.

I moved like a body at a funeral, drifting into the small church where peeling paint flaked like ash off the walls. Wooden chairs lined both sides. Friends. Deacons. Aunties with starched headwraps. Everyone sat with eyes raised to heaven and noses raised higher.

Head Deacon Ezekiel sat in the middle, smug and sanctified, Maribelle glowing beside him like a porcelain doll.

I sat beside Jethro.

He leaned in close and smiled at me like I was dessert.

"Praise God!" someone shouted.

"Praise Him!" the rest echoed.

Deacon Ezekiel stood. "We are gathered here to fulfill the will of the Most High. As it is written, 'He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord.'"

I clenched my fists.

"But first," he continued, "we must talk of war. The enemy surrounds us. The devil has taken the cities, the government, the schools. But we are God's chosen. Though we are watched like livestock, we will prevail."

Shouts erupted. Scripture flew like bullets. Hands raised. Eyes closed. Tongues spoken in unison.

But it was all noise.

Don Sinister had ruled for five years now. Burned cities. Executed pastors. No army had defeated him. No law dared challenge him. What hope did a ragged rebel church have?

After much shouting and spit-slinging, they prayed. Loud, long, desperate prayers. Begging God to remember them. Save them.

God, if You can hear me, please-get me out of here.

The noise faded.

The men returned to their seats, maps in hand, voices full of conspiracy and faith. I was invisible again.

Until the meeting turned.

The women clapped and congratulated me. I was a lamb, and they were tying bows on my neck.

"It is better to marry than to burn."

"A godly woman builds her home."

"Wives, submit to your husbands."

I sat frozen. My body numb. My voice buried somewhere I couldn't reach.

They eventually gave up and turned back to Mama. Wedding plans resumed like I wasn't even there.

Jethro gave a crude wave.

The women cleared out.

He leaned toward me again, eyes low and hungry.

"You're even prettier up close," he said, licking his lips. "Those curves... I'm going to enjoy taking your virginity."

I pulled away. My stomach turned.

"Don't touch me."

He laughed. "Touch? Baby, I'll do more than touch. I'll do whatever I want. I own you now."

"You'll never own me. I'm not marrying you."

The slap cracked across my face like lightning.

"I own you," he said through clenched teeth. "You'll cook. You'll open your legs. And you'll thank me for it."

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I didn't let them fall.

My parents entered. I turned to them, desperate.

"He hit me."

"He's allowed to correct you," Daddy said without blinking.

"No!" I shouted. "You're giving me to a monster."

"Enough!" His voice rose. "You are not a doctor. You are a wife. A future mother. That is God's will."

God's will, my foot.

I ran. Upstairs. Down the narrow hallway. Into my room. My chest heaved, lungs clawing for air.

I dropped to my knees beside the bed, pulled up the floorboard Grandpa had helped me loosen. I reached in and found the canvas bag-the one he gave me with a Bible and a whispered promise: "If you ever need to run, use this."

I unzipped it.

Empty.

No. No, no, no.

I tore through my room. The drawers. The mattress. The closet.

It's gone.

I stormed downstairs, chest heaving. "Did anyone touch my things?"

Mama didn't even look up. "Why are you shouting like a lunatic?"

"My money is gone. Did you take it?"

She waved me off. "Go sit down."

"Did you take it or not?"

"I said go and sit down."

"Answer me!"

She shrugged. "Ask your sister. She was cleaning up there yesterday."

I didn't wait. "Maribelle!"

She walked in on Deacon Ezekiel's arm, pregnant and glowing. Face powdered like porcelain. Her husband didn't allow her outside, but she still looked like a magazine cover.

Ezekiel stared at me, undressing me with his eyes.

I pushed past it. "Did you touch the money under my bed?"

"Oh. Yeah," Maribelle said, casually. "I meant to tell you."

My heart stopped. "Where is it?"

"I used it."

Everything inside me froze. "You what?"

"I needed things. For the baby."

"Maribelle, I saved that for two years."

"You're being selfish," she snapped. "I'm carrying life. I prayed to God for provision. He provided. Through you."

Something snapped.

I lunged.

My father caught me midair, pulling me back like a rabid dog.

"Demon child!" Mama screamed. "She's possessed!"

"She's rebellious!" Maribelle added, smug and untouched. "Just like Grandpa warned."

Daddy's voice boomed again. "You are not a doctor. You are a wife. A mother. That is the role God gave you. Accept it."

I slid down the wall, hands in

my hair, chest trembling. They took everything. My dreams. My prayers. All drowned beneath their idea of God.

Deacon Ezekiel grabbed Maribelle by the arm and stepped over me. She paused in the doorway, smirking.

He opened the door and stepped out. One step.

Two. Three.

Bang.

The shot tore through the silence.

He stumbled backward into the house, eyes wide, blood blooming on his chest like a red flower.

Dead.

Don Sinister has struck again.