Until He Sees Me - Broken Yet His

Chapter 6 - Crushed By Word

The office feels like the Arctic the next morning. Not the temperature, the AC’s is blasting like it wants to freeze us all to death, but the way everyone treats me. Like I’m radioactive.

Eyes follow me when I walk past. Conversations snap shut the second I get too close. Samantha, who usually greets me with some ridiculous story about her weekend, suddenly finds her desk fascinating every time I glance her way. I feel their gazes, heavy, accusing, like invisible labels flashing “failure” across my forehead.

The isolation is suffocating. My chest tightens, ribs pressing in. I try to focus on work, but my brain refuses to cooperate. Every email feels like an accusation. Every phone ring makes me jump. Guilt and anger twist in my stomach like a toxic cocktail, each sip worse than the last.

By five yesterday, I still hadn’t done it. Couldn’t call Massimo. Couldn’t apologize for standing up for myself. So now Daniel’s probably drafting my obituary while I pretend to care about vendor contracts that might not even exist tomorrow. Walking to my car feels like swimming through concrete, each step heavier than the last.

Simba bounces around my legs the second I walk through the door, tail going crazy, eyes bright with pure joy. For a few seconds, hugging his warm, solid body makes everything feel almost okay. Almost. His soft breath, his fur against my cheek, reminds me there’s still something in the world that isn’t judgmental.

Then I collapse on the couch and completely fall apart. The tears I’ve been holding back all day come flooding out. Silent at first, then ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs I can’t control. Everything’s tangled up inside me, humiliation, fear, anger, until I can’t breathe. What am I even doing? What’s the point of any of this?

My phone buzzes. Mom’s name flashes on the screen.

“Emma? Can you come to Ethan’s? We’re having dinner.”

It’s not really a question. Never is with her.

I splash cold water on my face until the redness fades, then drag myself back out into the world.

⸻

Ethan’s apartment is surprisingly warm when I walk in. Actual laughter. Conversations that don’t feel like walking through a minefield. Mom and Ethan are chatting easily, a small miracle these days, while Sarah bustles around the kitchen. I almost let myself breathe. Almost.

“Emma!” Ethan crushes me in one of his bear hugs. “Jesus, you look like shit.”

“Thanks. Really what every girl wants to hear.”

Sarah saves me by pouring wine and steering the conversation toward safe topics: work drama, weekend plans, normal family stuff. For twenty minutes, I almost forget why I’ve been miserable. My shoulders loosen. My chest, for a moment, isn’t so tight. Then Mom pulls out her phone.

“Oh Emma, I saw the pictures online! The hotel opening looked gorgeous!”

My blood turns to ice. She flips the screen toward me. There it is, the event, splashed across a society blog with professional photos and glowing reviews. And there I am, barely visible in the background of one shot, looking like a deer in headlights.

“Look, there you are!” Sarah points excitedly.

Mom squints at the photo. That familiar expression creeps across her face, the one that means she’s found something to fix.

“Hmm. Emma, that dress… it’s not very flattering, is it? Makes you look bigger than you are.”

The words hit like a slap. My fingers tighten around the wine glass, knuckles white.

“And your hair,” she continues, warming up to the topic. “It looks so messy. Like you didn’t even try.”

My throat closes up. “Mom…”

Ethan leans over her shoulder, grinning. “Yeah, Em, you definitely look like you gained weight. Shows in photos.”

My own brother. Laughing at me.

“And this lighting,” Mom keeps going, oblivious to the fact that she’s shredding me. “So harsh and yellow. For such an expensive event, I would have expected something more… sophisticated.”

Massimo’s voice crashes back into my head: Your reasoning isn’t wrong. His grudging praise mixing with my family’s casual cruelty.

“The lighting was perfect,” I whisper, but my voice shakes.

“If you say so, sweetheart. But honestly, I would have done it completely differently. More elegant.”

Ethan nods along. “She’s right. And those table arrangements? Looked like a community center wedding.”

Each word cuts deeper. My work, the one thing I’m actually good at, is dissected and dismissed. My appearance mocked. My confidence systematically demolished by the people who are supposed to love me. I stop eating. Can’t even look at my plate anymore. Food turns to cardboard in my mouth while they keep talking, keep laughing, completely oblivious to the fact that they’re destroying me piece by piece.

I sit there in silence while they continue their assault, each comment another blade between my ribs. My chest feels hollow. My skin burns hot and cold at the same time.

“I have to go,” I finally manage, pushing back from the table. “Headache.”

“Already?” Ethan barely looks up from his plate.

“Feel better, sweetheart,” Mom says dismissively. “And think about what we discussed. Appearance really does matter in your line of work.”

I make it to my car before I completely break down. Hands shaking so hard I can barely get the key in the ignition.

At home, the walls feel like they’re closing in. I curl up on the couch while Simba presses against my side, solid and warm, completely non-judgmental.

The crying starts again, worse this time. Everything hurts. Why does it always have to hurt?

My phone rings. Unknown number. I almost don’t answer. But something makes me swipe right.

“Hello?” My voice still shakes from tears.

“Miss Miller.” That voice. Deep, commanding, unmistakable. My heart stops completely.

“Mr… De Luca?”

“Tomorrow. One o’clock. My driver will pick you up. We need to talk.”

“I can’t… I already told Daniel…”

“One o’clock, Miss Miller.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone, hands trembling like leaves. He wants to see me. Tomorrow. No negotiation, no discussion. Just that voice, cutting through my defenses like they’re made of paper.

Simba tilts his head at me, sensing my panic. Tomorrow I face Massimo De Luca again. And this time, there’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. After tonight, after my family reminded me exactly what I’m worth, I don’t even know if I want to.