“I didn’t mean for it to—” I start.
He lifts a hand.
I stop instantly.
“I know you didn’t,” he says. “You rarely do.”
The words land like a slap disguised as reason.
“You’ve always been reactive,” he continues. “Emotional. That’s not a flaw, Faith, but it is a liability if left unchecked.”
Liability.
The word echoes in my skull, heavy and dehumanizing. I stare at the edge of his desk, at the perfectly aligned folders, the framed awards on the wall behind him. Evidence of a life built on control and predictability. On winning.
“I was overwhelmed,” I whisper. “I panicked.”
“You ran,” he corrects. “In a wedding dress. In front of people who matter.”
The humiliation burns all over again, hot and sharp.
“I didn’t do it to hurt anyone,” I say, shaking despite my best efforts. “I just… I couldn’t breathe anymore.”
My father exhales sharply, the first crack in his composure.
“Breathing is not the issue here,” he snaps.
The shift is subtle, but it’s there now. The tension, the impatience coiled beneath the calm. His jaw tightens. His eyes harden.
“You embarrassed me,” he says flatly. “You embarrassed Evan. You embarrassed yourself.”
Tears prick my eyes. I blink fast, trying to hold them back.
“I didn’t mean to?—”
“Intentions,” he says, leaning forward suddenly, “are irrelevant.”
His hand slams down on the desk.
The sound makes me flinch violently.
“I spent months putting that wedding together,” he continues, his voice rising just enough to vibrate with anger. “Do you have any idea what that event represented? The clients. The optics. The connections?”
I shake my head numbly.
“You made me look weak,” he says, eyes blazing now. “You made us look unstable.”
The wordusfeels like a cage snapping shut.
He drags a legal pad across the desk toward me. My name is written neatly at the top. Below it are bullet points.
Structure.
Reputation.
Stability.
“This is how we move forward,” he says, dropping back into control like rage is something he can switch on and off at will. “You cannot return to the life you were living.”
