Unwritten Vows

1

Two Years Ago

'Please tell me you'll stay,' Caitlyn whispered, her voice cracking as her fingers clung to Shelby's under the covers, like holding on just a little longer might stop the inevitable.

The room was still, quiet in the way only late nights could be. The soft blue glow of the moon spilled in through the window, casting long shadows on the posters and polaroids pinned to the wall. Their wall.

Shelby stared at the ceiling, unable to look at her. If she met Caitlyn's eyes, she'd break. And she couldn't afford to break. Not tonight.

'I can't...' she murmured.

Her fingers slipped from Caitlyn's grip.

The silence that followed wasn't peaceful. Caitlyn turned onto her side.

'Why?'

Shelby didn't answer.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet touching the cold floor. Her heart pounded so loudly it almost drowned out Caitlyn's quiet breathing.

She stood, pulled her hoodie over her head, and grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

'I'm sorry,' Shelby said, not turning back.

The door clicked shut behind her, soft as a sigh.

And just like that, their story had faded. Not with a scream or a fight, but with the quiet closing of a door that would take years to reopen.

Two Years Later

Shelby, eighteen and already tired of being told who to be, sat barefoot in the damp grass. In front of her a vast landscape of rolling green hills stretched to the base of distant mountains. The wind was a light breeze, but strong enough to make her hair strands sweep across her face, like nature itself was trying to hide her.

She sat there for hours a day, reminiscing of old times. She sat there just staring into the distance, hoping no one would disturb her peace.

Behind her, the soft crunch of footsteps on the wet ground disrupted the silence she clung to. She didn't turn at first. She didn't have to.

'Hey...we need to talk,' her mother said, her voice dipped in false sweetness.

Shelby turned, slow and wary.

Her mother stood in a white gown that looked more ceremonial than casual, lipstick smudged near the corners of her mouth like she'd been in too much of a rush to care. Her eyes, as always, were unreadable, but laced with that familiar sharpness.

'About what?' Shelby asked.

'Well... about you, your situation.'

Shelby stood up, hands by her side, and then crossed. She looked at her mother with confusion, then she looked back. She slipped her shoes on and walked towards her mother.

They walked together in silence, arms wrapped loosely around one another like strangers pretending to be family.

Four Years Ago

'You are a disgrace!' exclaimed Mrs. Monroe. 'Are you not ashamed?'

Mr. Monroe stepped into the room, his arms crossed, looking at Shelby with disgust. 'You've brought shame upon this family.'

Mrs. Monroe wandered around the room. She muttered words that Shelby couldn't comprehend. Mr. Monroe took his gaze off of Shelby and went to comfort his wife. He held her tight and whispered to her. 'We'll get through this, God works in mysterious ways, He'll help us with this troubled child.' Mr. Monroe then pulled something out of his pocket, a leaflet. He handed it over to Shelby. 'It's a two-month programme, it will help you-- be normal.'

Shelby stormed off to her room, she slammed the door shut, and just fell to her knees, sobbing.

The next day came around, she packed her bags and threw them into the boot of her parents' car.

'I hope you're prepared, Shelby. And I expect you to graduate.' demanded Mr. Monroe.

Shelby nodded in the back seat. Before the car took off, she took one last look at the scenery. That was the only thing she was going to miss about this place.

They arrived.

It was a lovely house, with pink brick walls that gleamed in the afternoon sun, and manicured flowerbeds wrapped around the front lawn like a bow on a gift no one wanted to open.

Shelby stepped out of the car, her stomach twisting. Something about the place felt... off.

A woman stood waiting on the porch.

Mrs. Wilkinson.

She wore a pastel dress that matched the roses behind her, but the softness ended there. Her smile was stiff, too wide. Blonde curls coiled tightly around her head like a crown of thorns, and her eyes, dark and glassy, held a kind of forced joy that made Shelby's skin crawl. The way she walked down the steps, her heels clicking in perfect rhythm, made you want to freeze, to not draw attention.

'Welcome! This is True Directions...' she chirped, her voice filled with unnerving cheer. 'Where we guide lost souls back to their purpose!'

Shelby barely heard her. Her gaze had drifted upward, caught by a figure behind the glass of a second-story window.

A girl.

Long, brown, curly hair framed her face like soft waves. Her eyes were brown, warm and deep. They glistened in the sunlight. And her skin. Skin with a complexion, the kind that always looked sun-kissed, even in winter.

Caitlyn Rivera.

The Present

Shelby and her parents were gathered in the living room. It was silent. The only sound you could hear was the clock ticking, it almost sounded like it was drowning out all the silence. Shelby sat there staring at the floor, fiddling with her thumbs. That's when Mr. Monroe smacked his lips and began to speak.

'So, your mother and I talked. Clearly this isn't working...' he paused for a bit. 'We set up a date.'

'A date for what?' Shelby questioned.

'Your wedding, of course.' The room went silent. Shelby's mind was racing with thoughts, even the clock ticking was silenced.

'You're getting older, Shelby. This family needs stability, and this marriage will provide that. Mark is a good man, from a good family. The date is set. This isn't up for debate. And don't disappoint us again with your foolishness.'

Shelby stayed locked in her room for the rest of the day. She was going through an old pile of memories, of her and Caitlyn. She smiled and teared up more at every photo she came across, photos that nobody else knew about. She came across a photo that she took of Caitlyn at the beach, where the wind made her hair flow flawlessly, and how the sun was perfectly hitting her skin, making her shine. She shuffled through more, she found a photo of both of them on the front porch of Caitlyn's house. They were sitting there happily, not a care in the world. Shelby noticed the way Caitlyn looked at her in each of the photos, like she was the only thing that existed, like love wasn't something you said, but something you wore in your eyes. She hadn't seen that look in two years, and she wasn't sure she ever would again.

She picked up another photo, this one slightly bent at the corner. Caitlyn in Shelby's hoodie, hair in a messy bun, holding a mug too big for her hands and grinning like the world was theirs. It had been a Sunday morning. Shelby remembered the way Caitlyn hummed while she cooked eggs, the way she kissed her behind the ear, like it was instinct.

That life had felt so real. It was real.

The knock on the door jolted her.

'Shelby?' her mother's voice called softly through the wood, the softness forced. 'Dinner's in ten. Mark will be joining us.'

The name hit like a slap. Shelby didn't answer.

She stared down at the photos again, her past spread across her bed like an unfinished story, a life she'd abandoned mid-sentence.

And for the first time in a long time, she whispered a truth she hadn't let herself say out loud:

'I still love her.'