Behind Closed Vows

Betrayed

I gazed at the Richard household, the place I'd called home for twenty-three years—a sanctuary where I'd desperately tried to fit in, to claim a spot in the family that should have been mine by right.

Today, I was abandoning it all: every memory, sweet or sour; every unseen effort; every quiet dream. Not because I'd graduated and craved adventure, nor because I'd summoned the courage to chase liberty. No, I'd been cast out, discarded by my own kin.

"What now, Elena?" I murmured to myself, pivoting toward the desolate road that had always guided me back.

The mere sight of it amplified the ache in my chest. Would I ever tread this path again?

"Never."

The word escaped before the thought fully formed. A choking knot swelled in my throat, making each breath a struggle. I exhaled a trembling sigh, drawing in crisp air, then, with grim determination, I took my first stride away from the only home I'd ever known.

This time, there was no return.

I departed with nothing but an unpredictable future and barren pockets.

A wry smile pulled at my lips as I pressed on, my sight clouding anew. Tears cascaded from my puffy eyes, defying my efforts to halt them.

"Enough already," I chided myself with a weak laugh.

I couldn't deny the misery gnawing at me, but here, solitary and forsaken, forsaking all familiarity, I refused to wallow in it.

I'd been trudging for what felt like eternity; the road seemed infinite, either elongated beyond recognition or my limbs weighed down so profoundly that progress demanded sheer will. Each step was like pushing through unseen resistance, my legs throbbing, my chest constricted.

So absorbed in my reverie, I failed to spot the figure ahead until I nearly collided, stumbling and skidding on the pavement.

For an instant, I doubted my vision.

Earlier, I'd begged him for a mere chat as he passed, but he'd dismissed me without a backward look. Yet here he stood, facing me with that familiar, impassive mask.

"Finally, you've gone," he drawled, his eyes languidly settling on the suitcase I hauled.

I attempted a smile, though it emerged laced with the bitterness churning within.

"I know I've committed an unforgivable act," the words rasped from my raw throat, "but I hoped you'd help me, just this once, for old times' sake—our friendship."

"I have no interest in helping you," he replied, his tone icy, nonchalant, as if my world hadn't shattered.

The chill stung deeper than the words themselves, affirming that whatever fragile bond we'd shared was worthless.

"I've learned that today," I nodded, forcing my mouth into a rigid grin.

"But I still owe you an explanation."

I gulped air, easing the vise around my lungs.

This was the man I'd admired from afar, the one I'd dared to yearn for. I'd settled for crumbs: fleeting looks, sparse words during his visits to Sophia. Back then, it sufficed.

Now, his gaze held only cold detachment—hatred that seared my core.

"No need," he brushed off flatly.

I had no retort. I bit my lip, stemming the tears threatening to spill.

I was a victim, too—robbed of my innocence by someone who now regarded me with burning scorn. But no one saw that; to them, I was merely the antagonist in my half-sister's romance.

"It's enough that you've left the Richards' home," he said, his eyes flicking toward the direction I'd come from, as if I were already obsolete. "That's what counts."

Then he fixed me with a piercing, ruthless stare.

"You're pathetic—groveling at Sophia's feet, pleading to remain."

Contempt warped his features.

"You truly have no sense of self-respect."

His words scorched like flames, each one igniting fresh agony.

I shut my eyes, bowing my head, unable to meet his gaze. The insults pierced me, sapping my remaining resolve.

Worse than the hurt: I couldn't refute him. It was all true.

The silence dragged until I assumed he'd departed. Then: "Here, take this."

Startled, I lifted my eyes gradually. He remained, arm extended, a card pinched between his fingers.

I stared—first at him, then the card—bewildered, questioning if fatigue and sorrow were hallucinating.

"This should tide you over for a few months," he said as I hesitated.

My hands clenched at my sides. Pride urged rejection, but necessity roared louder. Beyond dignity, I needed the funds.

"Think of it as severance pay," he added coldly. "And don't show your face at the Richards' again."

The directive sliced deep, yet I didn't reach for it.

"Well?" He arched a brow, impatience flickering. "What are you waiting for?"

I stayed mute, and he sneered.

"You'd kiss Sophia's feet," venom in every syllable, "but you won't take money to avoid the streets?"

The brutality made my skin crawl.

"Consider it a loan," he dismissed, stepping closer and slapping the card onto my suitcase—as if sealing the deal.

He shot one last glance and strode to his car.

"Why help me now?" The question erupted from my chest before I could contain it.

He paused mid-stride; the world seemed to freeze. But he didn't turn.

"To ensure you never return to the Richards' household."

The statement hung heavy between us.

I smiled—if the faint twist of my lips qualified—tasting its acrid edge.

"I'll repay you when my situation improves," I declared, eyeing the card, jaw tight as I clung to shreds of pride.

He didn't halt.

"That's your concern," he mocked, without a glance.

And with that, he vanished, bequeathing a loaned existence and the remnants of his apathy.

Tears welled again, sharper and more acrid than before.