My husband’s strange smile on the wedding night scared me. It turned out he had been hiding a secret for years…
My name is Olivia Parker, 27 years old, living in San Francisco.
When I agreed to marry Ethan Miller, 38 years old – a successful businessman my mother met through friends – I did not have any of the excitement of a new bride.

I had just gone through a broken relationship that made me no longer trust men.

So when my mother said:
“Son, Ethan is a stable, mature person who will give you a peaceful life,”
I just sighed:
“Better peace than torment.”

The wedding took place solemnly at a hotel by the bay. Candlelight, wine, everything was perfect… but inside I was a cold emptiness.
On the wedding night, the splendid suite looked out over the Pacific Ocean.
I sat by the bed, feeling confused, tired and… scared.
Ethan was silent for a long time, his eyes unreadable.
Suddenly, he turned to look at me intently and then smiled a strange smile – not like his usual politeness, but mixed with something mysterious and creepy.

I shrugged my shoulders and asked softly:

“Why are you looking at me like that…?”

He didn’t answer right away. He poured wine into two crystal glasses, the red light reflecting on his deep eyes.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this day?”

I was stunned.

Waiting? We had only met a few months ago, how could he say “waiting”?

Ethan approached, sat down next to me, gently stroked my hair with his fingers, and whispered in my ear:

“You don’t remember, but I remember… That year, there was a sixteen-year-old girl sitting alone crying under a maple tree in Central Park.

I brought her home, bought her a bowl of hot soup.

That girl… was you.”

I was stunned.
Memories flooded back like a flood – it was true that when I was 16, I ran away from home because my friends betrayed me, and sat crying in the park in the middle of the night.

A man brought me back safely, and said:

“When you grow up, live strong, don’t let anyone hurt you again.”

I used to call that person “my savior”, then forgot about it amidst the vicissitudes of life.

I trembled:

“You… are that person?”

Ethan nodded, his eyes full of meaning, his smile even more confusing:

“I’ve been looking for you for years. When I found out you were broken in love, I considered it my last chance.”

I was both touched and uneasy.
Part of me wanted to believe that it was protection, but another part felt something was wrong.

A man following a girl for more than ten years, waiting until she was at her weakest to “appear”… is that really love?

The wedding night had no passion, no laughter.

There was only his strange gaze and unanswered questions in my heart.

I turned my back, pretending to sleep. But I could clearly feel his gaze still following me, heavy and unpredictable.
For some reason, I felt scared.

The next morning, when I woke up, Ethan had left the room.

On the table, he left a small note:

“I have an urgent job. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

I folded the note, my heart filled with doubt.

Perhaps, after that night, I understood that there are people who love you not because of feelings, but because of obsession.

A few days later, when I was cleaning my husband’s office, I discovered a small wooden box in a drawer.

Inside were dozens of photos – all of them of me, taken at different stages: from when I was in college, to when I was working, even photos of me with friends.

There was also a photo of me with my ex.

I was stunned.
How did he get these photos?
He said he “accidentally found” me a few months ago – but looking at the number of years printed on the photo, I knew he had been stalking me for years.

When I confronted him, Ethan did not deny it:

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I was afraid that someone would hurt you again. I needed to be with you… to protect you.”

“Protect?” – I burst into tears – “You turned my life into a movie being watched! Your love is not love, it is obsession!”

Ethan looked at me, his smile reappearing – that strange smile – as if he did not understand what he had done wrong.

That night, while he slept, I quietly packed my luggage and left the luxurious villa he had prepared for us.
I left a handwritten note:

“Thank you for saving me when I was sixteen.

But love can’t be built on pity and control.

I want to live freely – even if it means being alone.”

I took the night bus back to my mother’s house.
Outside the glass door, the streetlights of San Francisco passed by, hazy as a memory.

I knew my marriage had only lasted one day – but it was a day long enough for me to understand that it was better to be alone than to live in a love bound by obsession and the past.