Page 38

the dam breaks

ELLIE

M y parents’ house looks the same as it always has. Clean to the point of sterile. Cold. Perfection that doesn’t breathe.

The pristine living room with its immaculate white sofa no one ever sits on. Symmetrical lamps. Art on the walls that’s tasteful, but hollow. A sharp, artificial citrus scent fills the air—as though masking something rotting underneath.

Everything is curated. Controlled. Designed to be looked at, not lived in.

I don’t even know why I came. If Naomi wasn’t visiting her own parents, I’d be pouring my soul out to her instead. Wrapped in a blanket, wine in hand, crying over pasta covered in a devastating amount of cheese.

But she’s gone. And I’m here. Sitting at the kitchen table like I’m seventeen again, stomach tight, waiting for reassurance that never comes.

Desperate. Pathetic .

Mum perches on the chair opposite like she’s conducting an interview, not having a conversation with her daughter. Legs crossed precisely at the ankle. Manicured hands resting on the table, one thumb brushing idly over her wedding band.

She doesn’t look at me at first. Just scans the room, eyes flickering over surfaces, searching for something out of place.

“You know, Eleanor,” she says finally, voice clipped and cool, “it feels as though we’re having this same conversation every few years.”

I flinch at the formality in her tone. Eleanor. Always Eleanor when she disapproves.

“What do you mean?” I ask, pulling my cardigan tighter around myself like I can shield against the words I know are coming.

“I mean,” she says eventually, “there’s always… something. Some drama. Some emotional decision. You say David cheated on you. That things haven’t been right for a while. But are you sure it’s what you think it is? That it’s really as bad as you’re making it out to be?”

I blink, stunned. “Am I sure ?”

She lifts a brow—measured and unbothered. Like I’m the one creating chaos where there is none.

Dad clears his throat from across the room. He’s been standing by the window this whole time, hands buried in his pockets like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

He moves toward me slowly, face softer than mums, but still cautious. That same tired worry I’ve seen my whole life—like loving me is a balancing act.

“Ellie, sweetheart,” he says gently, leaning against the other end of the table.

“Of course we’d never turn you away. But we’re…

concerned. You’ve always been reactive. You make decisions quickly.

We just want you to take a breath before you do anything drastic.

Think about Mia. About everything you’ve built. ”

My heart clenches, a tight, mean fist inside my chest. “I am thinking about Mia,” I breathe. “I think about her every minute of every day.”

“We’re not saying you’re wrong,” Mum cuts in, adjusting the hem of her blouse even though it’s already perfectly pressed. “But David’s always been there. He’s given you a good life. Are you really prepared to throw that away over a mistake?”

I stare at her. “A mistake ?”

“Relationships aren’t perfect, Eleanor,” she says quietly. “You don’t just walk away when they get difficult. You work at them. You compromise.”

I laugh—sharp, bitter. “You think I haven’t compromised? I have sacrificed . I’ve twisted myself into shapes you’ll never understand. And he took all of it. Every last bit.”

Dad shifts uncomfortably, but says nothing.

“You live in a fantasy,” she replies, her voice thinning. “You expect some perfect version of love that’s not real. Real love requires patience.”

My hands tremble, fists curled in my lap. “So what? I should stay with someone who lies, manipulates, and cheats—because that’s what commitment looks like to you ?”

Dad exhales, shifting again like the conversation is too heavy to stand beneath.

“No one’s saying you have to stay,” he says, low. “We’re just saying—be sure. Mia needs stability. And you’ve struggled before, Ellie. We don’t want to see you go through all of that again.”

“I’m not struggling,” I snap. “I’m fighting . For her. For me. And I thought, just once, you’d see that.”

Mum clasps her hands together tighter, her wedding band flashing like a warning. “We don’t want you to throw away something that could still be repaired.”

“He’s not a broken chair , Mum. He’s a man who made a thousand choices that hurt me.” My breath catches. “And Mia deserves better than that. I deserve better than that.”

She doesn’t answer. But her composure shifts—just slightly.

She can feel it slipping. The neat version of my life she’s clung to, unravelling at the seams.

She reaches out, voice low. “Ellie, please. We’re trying to protect you.”

I meet her eyes—steady, unflinching.

“You’re not protecting me ,” I whisper. “You’re protecting the idea of me. The version of me that finally looked acceptable once David entered the picture. The version you could brag about.”

Her hand drops.

“I spent years trying to be that version,” I say, voice shaking. “But she’s not real. And I don’t think she ever was.”

The silence that follows is sharp. Cold and final.

Things are good between us when my life is good. When I make sense. When I make them proud. But the second I unravel—even a little—they turn sour.

I stand abruptly, my chest tight, throat aching with frustration.

Mum pales, her composure slipping just enough to show the cracks.

Dad shifts beside her, caught between discomfort and guilt.

“Ellie, we just don’t want to see you hurt again,” he says softly.

“I am hurting, Dad.” My voice rises, splintering. “David is hurting me. You are hurting me.”

It cracks out of me before I can stop it. Raw. Loud. Final.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I don’t look away. I make them see it.

“Everything I do is for Mia. Every decision. Every fight. Do you honestly think I’d risk all this if I wasn’t absolutely sure I couldn’t keep living the way I was?”

They don’t answer.

And their silence—the same one that’s lived between us for years—says everything.

I walk toward the door, every step heavy with disappointment. But under the ache, something harder sets. Like steel cooling in my bones.

As I open the door, I speak without turning back.

“I’m not staying with someone who breaks me just to keep your illusion intact.”

Then I step out into the fading light, pulling the door shut behind me with a soft but final click.

The ache doesn't leave with me. It clings to my skin, sinks into my bones, and follows me all the way to the car. Just another weight I've learned to carry.

The streetlamps blur past in streaks of orange and white. My hands tighten around the wheel—knuckles pale under the dashboard glow.

I don’t even know why I bothered going.

I didn’t want a dramatic reckoning or some grand intervention—I just needed somewhere to land. A place to breathe. Somewhere quiet to figure out what I wanted. How I wanted to move forward.

But the second I walked through that front door, I saw it—the shift. The caution in their eyes. Like they’d already decided who they were going to be in this story, and it wasn’t the people standing beside me.

They could see I was hurting. Could hear it in my voice. But none of that mattered as much as preserving the image. The illusion they’ve spent years carefully stitching together—the almost-son-in-law with the pressed shirts and effortless charm. The fixed-up version of their messy daughter.

I should’ve known better.

I did know better.

Deep down, I knew before I even knocked.

I exhale through my nose, changing lanes as the petrol light flickers to life.

Of course. One more fucking thing.

I pull into the nearest station and slot the car into a bay. The air outside is sharp, biting at my cheeks as I lift the pump.

I fill the tank on autopilot, my head buzzing with everything and nothing at once. Inside the shop I grab a bag of Mia’s favourite sweets, those ridiculous fizzy rainbow strips she pretends to hate but eats by the handful.

The thought of her rolling her eyes and trying not to smile softens something in my chest.

At the till, the man scans everything, and I reach for the joint account card.

Tap.

Declined .

I frown. Try again.

Declined .

“Weird,” I mutter, switching to my personal debit card instead. That one goes through instantly.

“Bloody contactless,” I add under my breath, forcing a tight smile at the cashier as I scoop the sweets into my coat pocket.

But I’m not laughing it off this time.

Same card, same flash of awkwardness. David’s voice rings in my head. Technical glitch , bank error , nothing to worry about .

Then a cold, quiet question lodges in the back of my throat.

I tuck the sweets into my coat pocket and head back to the car, trying to convince myself it’s nothing. That it’s just another thing to deal with later.

But unease crawls under my skin all the same. A tiny, sharp stone caught in the seam of my certainty.

The house feels different when I get home. Like someone has vacuumed all the air out and left the shell behind.

Mia’s staying at Claire’s tonight, and without her here, the place feels… wrong. The lights are dim. The air is heavy. No music. No laughter. No warmth.

Just silence.

David’s car isn’t in the drive. Working late again. A phrase so overused it’s lost all meaning.

I step inside, letting the door click shut behind me with a soft thud.

My footsteps creak on the floorboards as I head for the stairs, each one slower than the last. I drag my hand along the banister, fingertips trailing the smooth grain like it might anchor me. Like if I let go, I might just float off into the silence.

My pulse stutters as I reach the landing and stop.

David’s office door is slightly ajar. A faint blue glow spills through the crack, pooling onto the carpet. The computer hums quietly.

He never leaves it on.

He never leaves it unlocked.

A chill skates down my spine and I hover in the doorway, uncertainty prickling at the back of my neck.

A warning.

A dare.

Still, my feet move of their own accord.