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Mrs. Park rolls her eyes. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” She steps around Mom and bends down to my eye level. “Break up with Caleb.”
“W-what?” I say.
She wants to take the one person I have away from me. It’s worse than a nightmare. I can’t lose him too. Not like this.
I shake my head, my eyes glazing over again. “I can’t.”
Mrs. Park stands straight again. “No. You will.”
Mom puts a gentle hand on Mrs. Park’s shoulder. “You can’t force them to break up. That isn’t right.”
Mrs. Park shoves Mom’s hand off her. “You know what’s not right? Your drunk husband beating up my son!”
Mom’s jaw drops. “That’s not what happened. It was an accident.”
Mrs. Park scoffs. “Accident or not, if Becca doesn’t break up with Caleb tonight, I’ll press charges against Greg.”
“You wouldn’t,” Mom says.
“I’ve been more than patient. I’m done watching your family take mine down with yours.”
Mom gasps. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Stop!” I yell.
They both turn to me, mouths still open as if they’re on pause, waiting to argue the second I’m done talking.
I can’t put my Dad through anything else. I’m the source of his pain, and I’m being offered a way to lessen it. If I don’t, it’ll only give him more reason to hate me. “I’ll do it.”
Mom shakes her head. “You can’t—”
“I’ll break up with Caleb.” The words scrape my throat on the way out.
Mom’s eyes search me in disbelief while Mrs. Park has the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
“You don’t have to do this,” Mom says.
“No.” I hold my head high despite feeling small. “I can’t do that to Dad.”
Mrs. Park steps back, seemingly stunned by my agreement.
Mom sits next to me, trying to pull me into a hug. “I promise you we can fix this.”
I shake her off. “Don’t touch me.”
It doesn’t matter how much she stood up for me. I know the truth. I know she would rather Ethan be the one she’s talking to.
I’ve never felt more alone.
I stand, pulling my keys out of my pocket. “I’m going home.” I wipe my tears on my sleeve as I mentally prepare to break not just my heart, but someone else’s.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
I don’t wantto go home, but there’s nowhere else to hide. All I want to do is go to bed and disappear. I want my brain to stop spiraling. I want my chest to stop hurting. I want to close my eyes and shut out the whole world.
My uncle's car is in the driveway when I pull up, but the house is quiet. Other than the light coming from the porch, it’s also dark. It’s almost eerie as I focus on every imperfection—the chipping paint on the shudders, the flower pots with dead plants from summer, the worn out doormat. I never noticed until now, but our house is falling apart—just like our family.
I turn the handle and walk in as the door groans.
