“I’m tired,” I whisper. “I’m so tired of being scared all the time.”
My father straightens, his rage cooling into something far worse.
“Crying will not solve this,” he says coldly. “You need to take responsibility.”
“For what?” I ask, barely audible.
“For fixing what you broke.”
The words crush the last bit of air from my lungs.
“I can’t keep cleaning up after you,” he continues. “And if you continue to resist, if you continue to embarrass us, I will have to reconsider how much freedom you’re allowed.”
Allowed.
The room goes cold.
Fear blooms sharp and sudden in my chest, crawling up my spine like ice.
“I don’t want to punish you forever,” he adds, almost gently now. “But you leave me very few options.”
Punish.
I curl my fingers into my sleeves, nails biting into skin, grounding myself in pain because my emotions feel too big to contain.
“I’ll do better,” I whisper.
He nods once, satisfied. “Good.”
The meeting ends without ceremony.
I don’t remember walking out of the office. I don’t remember the elevator ride down. I only know that at some point I’m standing on the sidewalk, city noise crashing over me, my reflection staring back from a darkened window like a stranger.
I feel small. Managed. Like a child again.
Evan pulls up to the curb.
He gets out and opens the passenger door without asking.
“Ready?” he asks.
I hesitate, and his hand comes to my lower back. Light, insistent, guiding me forward. Ownership disguised as concern.
My body goes rigid.
I get in.
The door shuts with a final, echoing thud.
Evan’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, then at me, smiling thinly.
“Your dad wants constant updates,” he says. “He’s worried about you.”
I stare straight ahead, my breath shallow, heart racing.
I am never alone.
Somewhere far away, so far it feels like a dream, there’s a porch light glowing warm against snow. A quiet town that knows my name. A man who asked me what I wanted and meant it.
