"Mom!"
The scream left my throat too late. Her hand was already mid-air.
Smack!
The sharp crack of palm against cheek echoed down the quiet street. Ronald staggered back, clutching his face where her slap had landed. His mouth twisted in pain, but he didn't retaliate. He never would.
My mother's eyes were wild with rage. Her chest heaved with every breath, and I could see the storm gathering behind her pupils.
"You think you can touch my daughter?" she seethed, her voice shaking but loud. "How dare you, I ask!"
"Mom, that doesn't—" I began, stepping forward.
"Rose, don't you dare!" she snapped, cutting me off. "Don't you dare defend him."
But I did. I stepped between them and reached out to Ronald. His cheek was already swelling, and his eyes met mine, confused, humiliated.
"Ma'am, please…" Ronald tried to speak, but she struck him again before he could finish.
Another slap.
I gasped. The violence stunned me. My mother had never hit anyone—at least not like this. Not in front of me. Not in front of the world.
"Rose, I'll handle it," Ronald said quietly, pulling himself upright. His voice trembled, but his back was straight. "Let me—"
"Oh, I see," she interrupted. "You'll handle it? Handle what, exactly? Being a disgrace?" She spat the words like venom. "Take care of yourself first. You're nothing but a slave! You dared put your filthy hands on my daughter?"
"Mom, stop!" I screamed. My voice cracked with panic. I wasn't afraid of her—but I was afraid of what she might do next.
Ron didn't move. He stood still, stoic, bearing the verbal lashing like armorless skin. Then—
Bang!
The door to his house flew open, and his parents rushed out. I felt the air thicken. Something was going to happen—something terrible.
Ron's arm came around my waist, protective, firm. I was pressed against him, feeling the pounding of his heart.
"Please," he whispered. "Don't go. Don't leave me."
"Not till my last breath," I whispered back.
"What's going on here?" Mrs. Parker demanded. She looked between us, then at my mother, confusion and alarm etched across her face.
"That boy put his hands on my daughter!" Mom shouted. "I've warned you people again and again, but apparently words aren't enough."
She lunged forward, grabbing my wrist, trying to pull me away. Ronald didn't let go.
"Can we please talk about this like adults?" Mr. Parker stepped forward, trying to intervene. "We need to reflect—"
My mother turned like a viper. "Don't tell me how to parent, Carlo. You share his blood! What does that tell me?"
"Stop insulting people, Mom!" I shouted. I couldn't believe the words that were coming from her mouth.
"I love your daughter," Ronald said suddenly, voice strong despite the swelling on his face. "I've never touched her disrespectfully. She loves me too. But you—"
"She doesn't know what love is!" Mom snapped. She yanked me harder, and in the struggle, my bracelet snapped. Beads scattered onto the pavement like shattered trust, and a sharp edge scraped across my skin.
"Stop! You're hurting her!" Ronald shouted.
Mom didn't stop.
"If you touch her again—" he warned, stepping forward.
"Then what?" she challenged. Her grip on me was vice-like, digging into flesh already torn. Blood oozed down my wrist. I was slipping.
"Lilly!" My father's voice cut through the air like a knife. Everyone froze.
"Stop. You're hurting her."
For a moment, silence. Blessed, fragile silence.
Ronald's parents—Laura and Carlo—stood frozen on the porch. Ronald looked to my father, nodding slowly. My skin burned, my limbs ached.
"Ronald, go home," Dad said firmly. "Laura, Carlo—please, take him inside. Rose will be fine."
Ronald didn't move.
"Rose, go to your room," Dad added, his voice stern now, directed at me. "I'll talk to her."
But Mom wasn't done. She grabbed my arm again, dragging me toward the house.
"Don't look at him," she whispered coldly in my ear. "Not ever again."
My fingers reached for Ronald as she pulled me. Our hands slipped apart—slowly, unwillingly—as if the universe itself mourned the separation.
His eyes never left mine.
And mine never stopped screaming.
Why does it feel like I'm seeing him for the last time?
Ronald—he's everything to me. The only one who ever made the world feel safe. Without him, I feel like I might simply… vanish. But inside this house, there's war in quiet tones. Behind the door of my father's office, Mom and Dad have been arguing for over an hour. And though I trust my father, I know my mother—when she plots, it's not for peace.
She's planning something.
I've cried myself into a haze. My face is soaked, my heart hollow. Ronald is the only thing on my mind. I keep imagining what she might've said. What she might do. My thoughts—they never lie to me. And right now, they're screaming that everything is about to change.
I can't sit here. I wipe my face, rise shakily, and creep toward the office. Voices spill faintly into the hallway, muffled but sharp.
"Laura, be careful what you say," my father warns.
"If you say it again—""What?!" Mom's voice cuts like broken glass. "No one knows the truth, not yet. But if it leaks—your life, your reputation, everything you built will collapse."
Mrs. Laura… his mother… is here?
The truth? My pulse races. What truth? What are they hiding?
I press my fingertips to the door, trembling. Their words sharpen through the thin wood, the weight of every syllable pressing on me like stones on my chest.
The truth isn't just bitter—it's unbearable.
Something inside me caves. My knees buckle. I sink to the floor like my bones have vanished, like gravity finally claimed me. My breathing turns shallow, desperate. What are they talking about?
"No," I whisper, voice breaking. "That can't be true."
I gasp for air. My throat tightens like someone's squeezing it shut. Tears pour down again, unstoppable. My thoughts coil around Ronald, around Jessie—around us. Everything we built. Every dream we whispered under streetlights. And now this?
He has to know. But…
Can he handle the truth?
My sobs escape too loudly. I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle them. But every word from the other side cuts deeper.
"I have to be honest with him," I whisper.
"You cannot." A hand grips my arm suddenly. Mom. She yanks me away, dragging me like a child stripped of will.
Morning comes, pale and cold.
They're leaving.
I lie in bed, motionless, listening to the voices downstairs. I hear Ronald's name. I hear mine. Every sound feels like a goodbye.
I am the reason he's leaving. Because of me, the wall between us grows higher today. He called me all night—my phone wouldn't stop vibrating, his name glowing on the screen like a lifeline I refused to grab. Now it's my turn to destroy everything.
He'll hate me forever.
I curl up where I cried the night before. The bed's still wet from tears. His voice echoes in my memory—soft, desperate, real.
"Rosee Posee… show courage for me."
I shake, heart in my throat, remembering all we promised each other. The dreams. The future. The forever we swore would never break.
But for our families… for the ghosts in the walls… someone has to break.
That someone is me.
"I need her," Ronald said, his voice trembling with urgency, emotion, and unfiltered desperation. "I won't move until I hear from her. You're wrong—all of you."
He stood in the middle of the hallway like a force refusing to be moved, even as his parents pulled at his arms, whispering in strained tones. My mother crossed her arms defiantly, my father's expression unreadable—half regret, half restraint.
And then there was me, frozen on the stairwell, caught between truth and devastation.
"Leave me!" I snapped, my voice cutting like broken glass. "Screw you."
His eyes darted to mine in an instant. And in that fleeting second, our gazes locked. There it was—the solace I'd spent the entire night craving. Just one glance at him gave me a taste of peace I hadn't earned. I didn't deserve his love.
"Rose…" he said my name like it was sacred. "Tell them. Tell them they're lying. That it's all a plan. Your mom… she made this up. She wants to break us. You know it."
He was begging me to give him something—anything to hold on to.
"Rose, you love me, right?" His voice cracked on the word love.
My lips wouldn't move. My throat closed up, strangled by emotion.
Nothing.
"Rose," he said again. A little louder. A little more desperate.
Still… nothing.
"ROSE!" he screamed, so loudly it made my mother flinch. But I stayed silent.
"You see?" Mom said coldly. "She's playing you, Ronald. She never deserved you."
Ronald turned back to me, his face pale, his eyes wide with disbelief, with hope still clinging to its last breath.
He didn't understand why I wasn't speaking. He didn't know what I had overheard. He didn't know the truth I was trying to protect him from would destroy him more than silence ever could.
Inside me was a storm—a violent, tearing wind screaming for me to tell him I loved him. But all I could do was watch him drown in the silence I created.
"She was right," I said finally, my voice flat, my heart shattering as I said it. "I've been playing you. You're nothing to me."
His mouth opened slightly, like the air had been stolen from him.
"You?" I continued, deadpan. "You have nothing. No job. No place in this world. What made you think someone like you could have someone like me? You're nothing."
He took a single step back, laughing—a laugh that was anything but joyful.
He laughed because it was the only thing left to do when your world collapses in front of you.
"Look at me and say it," he demanded through clenched teeth. "Look. In. My. Eyes."
So I did.
I looked straight into those forest-green eyes—eyes I used to dream about—and said with hollow precision, "You're nothing to me. You should leave."
He stood still, his chest rising and falling like a man trying to remember how to breathe.
"Mom," he said with a bitter laugh, never taking his eyes off mine. "You were right. She's just a heartless bitch."
Laura, his mother, smiled like a vulture watching its prey collapse. Mr. Parker stood in stunned silence, as if he, too, had been gutted.
"I told you," my mother whispered smugly. "He was never worthy of our bloodline."
"Get out of my house," I said, voice cold and distant.
But something snapped.
In a blur of motion, Ronald lunged at me. His hand found my throat, not squeezing—yet—but firm enough to still time.
His face twisted into a mask of fury and grief.
"Pray," he growled, "pray our paths never cross again. Because if they do—if fate is cruel enough to put you in front of me again—I swear, you'll wish for death."
Tears welled in his eyes, but none fell.
"I'll ruin you," he whispered, voice shaking. "Every second of your life will be agony. You'll choke on your own lies. You'll beg for the pain to stop, and it never will."
And then, with a sudden violent twist, he pushed me away.
The sound of my fall echoed through the house.
Everything scattered.
Love.Life.Heart.Pain.
I stayed there, unmoving, as if maybe if I didn't move, time would reverse itself.
But Ronald had already turned away.
And with him, he took everything I never had the courage to say.