CHAPTER 5
1235 Words
Leah
I didn’t hear him approach.
I was standing in the hallway outside my room, fingers still damp from the shower, my hair twisted into a knot I hadn’t bothered to secure properly. I hadn’t gone back to bed. I didn’t know what to do with myself yet. Every part of me felt exposed, like the house itself could see through my skin.
“Jesus, Leah.”
Daniel’s voice came from behind me.
I turned slowly. He stood a few feet away, already dressed, already put together. He looked exactly as he always did — calm, controlled, faintly irritated, like I’d inconvenienced him simply by existing in his space.
“You really don’t waste time, do you?” he said.
My stomach dropped. “Daniel, I—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t.”
The word landed heavy. Final.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he continued. “Lizzie’s a mess. Mom’s barely holding it together. And Jacob—” He shook his head. “You’ve done enough damage for one night.”
I felt myself shrink under his gaze, a familiar instinct rising before I could stop it. “I didn’t plan—”
“That’s always your excuse,” he cut in. “You never plan anything. You just… drift into it.” His mouth twisted. “And somehow expect the rest of us to clean it up.”
It sounded like something he’d heard before, something he’d decided to believe.
I had learned early that being quiet didn’t protect you, it only made you easier to blame.
“That’s not fair,” I whispered.
Daniel laughed softly. Not amused. Dismissive. “When has fair ever been the point?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You knew he was drunk. You knew he was vulnerable. And you still went there.” His eyes hardened. “That says everything.”
My chest ached. “You don’t know what happened.”
“I know enough,” he said flatly. “And honestly? I’m not surprised.”
The words stung more than I expected. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe I’d been waiting for them my whole life.
“You’ve always wanted to be part of things you don’t belong in,” he went on. “Lizzie’s world. Our world.” He gestured vaguely around us. “This family.”
Something inside me finally gave.
“I am part of this family,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to keep it steady.
Daniel studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable.
Then he shrugged.
“Are you?”
He turned to leave, then stopped.
“They want you downstairs,” he said without looking back. “Now.”
I didn’t ask who they were.
He was already walking away.
I followed Daniel down the stairs.
He didn’t slow for me. He didn’t look back. He walked like this was something already finished, something that no longer required his attention. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, on not letting my knees buckle halfway down.
The living room was full.
Lizzie stood near the fireplace, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face blotchy and furious. My parents flanked her, close and solid, like a barrier. Jacob stood a few steps away, separate from all of them, his posture rigid, his expression closed.
No one offered me a seat.
My father spoke first. “Explain yourself.”
The word lodged in my chest.
“I didn’t plan anything,” I said quietly. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I had been drinking too.” My hands twisted together in front of me. “We both were.”
Lizzie let out a sharp, broken laugh. “Listen to her.”
“I didn’t take advantage of him,” I said quickly, the words tumbling over each other now. “We were together. We were talking. It just… happened.”
My mother’s mouth tightened. “You knew he was upset.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “But I was too. I didn’t think—”
Lizzie moved before I could finish.
Her nails caught my cheek, a sudden sting that made me gasp and stumble back. I raised a hand instinctively, more shocked than hurt.
“Lizzie,” my mother exclaimed — but she didn’t move to stop her.
Jacob’s voice cut in, low and tense. “That’s enough.”
Lizzie rounded on him, eyes wild. “Don’t defend her.”
“I’m not,” he said.
The words were flat. Certain.
My stomach dropped.
“She knew what she was doing,” Jacob continued, his gaze fixed on me now. “She knew I wasn’t in my right mind.”
I shook my head, small, helpless. “That’s not true.”
“You were sober enough to know exactly where it would lead,” he said. “I wasn’t.”
“That’s not—” My voice broke. “I didn’t—”
“You always wanted this,” Lizzie snapped. “You’ve always wanted what I have.”
“That’s not true,” I whispered. But it sounded like a lie even to me.
My father stepped forward, his presence heavy. “Enough.”
He turned to me fully, his expression hard and resolved. “You crossed a line.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Intent doesn’t matter,” he cut in. “What matters is what you did.”
My mother nodded once, decisively. “You cannot live here anymore.” Her voice wasn’t shaking. This wasn’t grief. It was control
The words didn’t register at first. “I—what?”
“You need to pack your things,” my father said. “This house isn’t a safe place right now.”
“For me?” I asked, confused.
“For Lizzie,” my mother said sharply. “You’ve done enough damage.”
“I didn’t force him,” I said, my voice barely audible. “We were both there. We both chose—”
Jacob looked away.
Not because he didn’t hear me, but because he did.
The small motion felt like a door closing.
“And don’t expect us to support you,” my father added. “You’re an adult. You made a choice. You’ll deal with the consequences.”
I waited.
For Jacob to say something.
For anyone to soften.
For some sign that this wasn’t final.
Nothing came.
My throat tightened, but I nodded. “Okay.”
The word felt wrong, like it didn’t belong to me.
I turned and walked back upstairs. No one followed. No one called after me.
In my room, I packed quietly. Clothes. Shoes. A few books. I didn’t look at the mirror. I didn’t sit down. I moved on instinct, afraid that if I stopped, I wouldn’t start again.
When I came back downstairs with my bags, they were still there. Still united.
Jacob didn’t look at me.
Not once.
I walked past them, through the front door, and into the morning air. The door closed behind me with a soft, final sound.
I stood there with my bags at my feet, the house looming behind me — beautiful, cold, and never truly mine.
I hadn’t planned any of this.
But somehow, I was the only one paying for it. And I would carry that lesson with me for years.
- Writer
