Broken At 18

Chapter 4: A Dinner She Didn’t Expect

The front door clicked shut with a soft thud — a quiet sound swallowed by the stillness of the house. Inside, the sitting room exuded understated elegance. A beige sectional sofa stretched along one wall, adorned with cushions in muted tones of grey and soft green. A polished wooden coffee table sat in the center, its surface free of clutter except for a small stack of magazines and a vase of fresh flowers. The walls were decorated with framed family photos and a few abstract prints, tasteful but not extravagant. A large window allowed sunlight to spill in during the day, casting warm patterns across the cream-colored rug that covered the hardwood floor..

Faith leaned her forehead against the cool wood, her chest rising and falling as the memories of the day replayed in her mind like fragments of sunlight. Celeb's laugh, warm and effortless. The way his hand brushed hers when he thought she wouldn't notice. The way the city lights had reflected in his eyes as he told her she could be anything she wanted to be.

For a fleeting moment, she believed him.

"Faith?"

Her mother's voice broke through the fog of her thoughts. "Is that you, honey?"

"Yeah," Faith answered softly, slipping off her sneakers.

The kitchen was alive with color and scent —Her father sat at the head of the table, glasses perched low on his nose, a newspaper folded neatly beside his plate. His face was composed, but his eyes, when they lifted to her, carried that silent weight of judgment she'd grown too familiar with. The smell of roasted chicken and thyme wrapped around her like a blanket. Her mother stood at the stove, a wooden spoon in hand, her apron streaked with sauce. At the table, her father sat straight-backed, glasses perched on his nose, the faint rustle of his newspaper breaking the quiet.

"There you are," Margaret said, hands on her hips, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Dinner's almost ready. And look at the time! Do you have any idea how late it is?"

Faith mumbled an apology, her earlier contentment beginning to fray. "We just lost track of time, Mama. We were at the library."she lied "and then we went for a walk" Faith added when she saw the look on her parents faces

Robert folded his newspaper deliberately, eyes narrowing. "A walk. At night."

"It wasn't that late," Faith murmured, trying to keep her voice calm.

He gestured toward her, his tone controlled but edged with disappointment. "You just turned eighteen, Faith. You have no reason to be wandering around at this hour with some boy" He gestured towards the bathroom. "Go shower first. You look like you've been running through a field."

Margaret sighed. "Your father's right. And wash your hair, please — it's full of wind."

Faith nodded quietly, slipping away before her throat betrayed the irritation building there.

In the shower, the water ran warm and steady, fogging the mirror and blurring her reflection. For ten minutes, she tried to wash away the heaviness that clung to her — the tension between her parents' world and the one she dreamed of. When she finally stepped out, wrapped in the scent of jasmine soap, she rehearsed her words in her head.

Just say it, Faith. They'll understand. They have to.

At the dinner table, the food was perfect — as always. Roast chicken, garlic potatoes, her mother's green beans. She sat down, the clink of silverware filling the air. No one spoke for several minutes.

Finally, Faith broke the silence. "Mama, Papa... there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Margaret looked up, her expression soft but curious. "What is it, dear?"

Faith's fingers fidgeted around her fork. "I've been thinking a lot about college. I want to apply. Maybe for literature, or design. I've already started looking at some schools."

Robert's fork froze midair. "College?"

"Yes," she said, gaining a little courage. "I know it's expensive, but I could apply for scholarships. I've been getting good grades—"

Margaret interrupted gently, "Faith, that's... sweet. But you don't need to rush into these things. You have plenty of time to think about your future."

Faith smiled faintly. "But I am thinking about it. I just—"

Robert exhaled sharply. "Faith, college isn't realistic. You're not listening. We've discussed this before. Things cost money. Real money."

"I can work part-time," she said quickly. "Or take out student loans. I just want to try—"

A sharp laugh from her father cut her off. "Faith? A woman doesn't need to study. A woman needs to know how to run a home, how to care for her family."

"Faith," he said again, this time more firmly, "we've already made plans for you. You don't need to worry about this nonsense."

""But Papa, times are changing," Faith protested, a desperate tremor in her voice. "I want to have a career, to make a difference. Celeb even said—"

"Celeb!" Her Magaret voice was suddenly cold. "What does celeb know? He's a boy, full of silly ideas." She exchanged a significant look with Robert. "We're already saving every penny we have for Rohan's schooling. He'll be graduating in two years, and he needs a good education to get ahead in this world."

And what about me?" Faith felt a surge of indignation. "Don't I deserve a chance to get ahead too?"

"Don't be greedy, Faith," Robert father said, his voice firm, tinged with disappointment. "Rohan is the boy. He will carry on the family name, he will provide for us in our old age. Your path is different."

"Different?" Faith stared at them, a dreadful premonition forming in her mind. "What path? What are you talking about?"

"Faith," he said again, this time more firmly, "we've already made plans for you. You don't need to worry about this nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Faith echoed, her voice trembling. "Wanting an education is nonsense?"

Robert set his utensils down, his patience thinning. "Do you think life is that simple? Do you think reading books will put food on the table? You'll end up in debt and dependent, just like—" He stopped himself, shaking his head.

Margaret reached out, touching his arm. "Robert, please." Then she turned to Faith, her tone softer but no less firm. "Sweetheart, you have to understand. We've been talking to someone. Mr. Dawson. He is a suitable match for you," Magaret continues

her eyes gleaming with what she clearly believed was good news. "Mr.Dawson. He's a successful businessman, very respected in the community. He's a little older, yes, but he can provide for you, give you everything you could ever want. We won't have to worry about your future, or about finding money for your 'college'."

Faith blinked. "Mr. Dawson? The one who owns the car dealership?"

Margaret nodded. "He's very successful. And he's shown interest in you."

The words didn't register at first. "Interest in... me?"

Robert nodded, calm as if discussing weather. "He's a respectable man. Older, yes, but stable. He can give you a life without struggle. No debts, no uncertainties."

The words hit Faith like a physical blow. Mr.Dawson. The man with the stern eyes and the perpetually creased suit, who always seemed to loom rather than walk. He was old enough to be her father. A wave of nausea washed over her, making the fragrant curry suddenly unappetizing. Her vision blurred, and the bright kitchen lights seemed to spin.

"No," she whispered, the word barely audible. "No, you can't. I won't."

Her parents exchanged another look, one of exasperation, not understanding. Her mother reached across the table, placing a hand on Faith's arm, but it felt less like comfort and more like a clamp.

"It's for your own good, child," Magaret said, her voice gentle but unyielding. "You'll thank us one day. This is the best path for you."

Faith's heart pounded. "He's fifty-two! He has a daughter my age!" She screamed

Robert's jaw tightened. "Enough with the dramatics."

"This isn't dramatic!" she snapped, her voice rising. "This is insane! You want to marry me off to someone old enough to be my father just because it's convenient?"

Margaret's tone hardened. "Lower your voice, Faith."

"Why?" she shot back. "So the neighbors won't hear you selling your daughter's future over dinner?"

Robert stood abruptly, palms flat on the table. "You will not speak to us that way. We are doing what's best for you."

Tears stung her eyes. "Best for me? You mean best for you. You're scared of bills, of debt, of change — and you want to throw me at the first man who can make your life easier!"

Margaret's face paled. "That's not true."

"Then tell me," Faith demanded, voice breaking, "why is Rohan allowed to go to college? Why is his dream worth paying for, but mine isn't?"

Robert's voice was low and cold. "Because Rohan will carry the family name. He will take care of us when we're old. You will have a husband to take care of you."

Faith laughed — bitter, broken. "A husband. Right. So that's what I'm worth. A dowry and a dinner invitation."

"Enough," Margaret said quietly, but her eyes were glassy with tears. "You'll understand one day, Faith. This is the way things are."