Two.
1775 Words
I was three steps away from the lecture hall when my phone vibrated in my hand.
Not a call. A message.
I almost ignored it.
Professor Hensley was already inside. I could see silhouettes moving through the frosted glass panels of the classroom door. If I didn’t enter now, I would either be marked late or worse, used as a public example of irresponsibility.
My phone vibrated again.
Something in my chest tightened.
I glanced down.
Mom.
Of course.
I exhaled slowly, stepping to the side of the hallway to avoid the stream of students slipping into class. My thumb hovered over the screen for half a second longer than necessary before I opened the message.
Elena.
I know you intentionally escaped me this morning.
I stared at the words.
Escaped.
Not left. Not hurried. Escaped.
I swallowed.
Another message followed immediately.
If you think you can keep avoiding me, I promise I will find a way to make sure you cannot ignore me anymore.
My jaw tightened. Around me, students laughed softly, adjusting backpacks, whispering about assignments. The world moved on. Mine stalled in that narrow hallway.
Another message.
You do not have to call everything an end just because it did not make it to the next chapter.
I knew exactly what she meant.
Jeremy.
The relationship that collapsed like a poorly built house after I had poured everything into it. The one she never approved of but tolerated because I had insisted I knew what I was doing.
I leaned against the wall, my shoulder pressing into cool concrete.
My phone vibrated again.
I have given you the world other people cannot afford. The best schools. The best life. The best opportunities. But it does not end there.
My eyes blurred for a moment.
It does not end there.
Another vibration.
If I cannot bring my daughter into her home, I have failed as a woman. I have failed as a mother.
That one hurt.
Not because I agreed.
But because I knew she believed it.
I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling through my nose, counting to five the way I always did when I needed to keep myself from reacting emotionally. Around me, the hallway was almost empty now. The door to my class was closing.
I should go in.
I couldn’t move.
Another message.
I miss when we were best friends. When you told me everything. When you did not hide from me. Now you are always running. Always closing your door. Always disappearing before I can speak.
My chest tightened in a way I didn’t expect.
We used to sit together every Sunday evening on the couch, legs tucked beneath us, laughing over old stories. She used to braid my hair while telling me about how she met my father. She used to tell me I was her greatest blessing.
When did we start speaking like opponents instead of mother and daughter?
The screen lit up again.
You are my responsibility, Elena. I will answer to God for you. If I fail to guide you to what you are meant for, that failure is mine.
A quiet bitterness rose in my throat.
What if what I am meant for isn’t marriage?
What if I am meant for courtrooms and arguments and long nights studying case law and building something with my own name?
But she wasn’t finished.
Your father and I have decided. You have until the end of this semester to bring someone to us. If you do not, we will choose for you.
My heart skipped once.
Then twice.
Then began beating steadily again, but harder.
Choose for me.
I reread the sentence, as if it would change meaning the second time.
It didn’t.
My parents were not dramatic people. They did not make threats they wouldn’t carry out. They believed in decisions. In order. In family dignity.
End of the semester.
That was four months away.
Four months to find a man I did not want.
Four months to pretend I believed in something I had stopped trusting.
Four months before my life would be rearranged without my consent.
The classroom door clicked shut.
I was officially late.
I pushed myself off the wall and slipped inside as quietly as possible. Professor Hensley paused mid-sentence, his sharp eyes landing on me like a spotlight.
“Miss Whitmore,” he said calmly, but there was no warmth in it.
“Apologies, Professor,” I replied, steady, composed. I slid into the nearest empty seat.
He held my gaze for a second longer than necessary, then continued his lecture on contractual obligations and enforceability.
Contractual obligations.
The irony almost made me laugh.
Marriage, in many ways, was the most binding contract of all.
My notebook lay open in front of me, but the words on the board blurred. Instead, my mind replayed my mother’s messages over and over.
I have failed as a mother.
I will answer to God.
We will choose for you.
I tightened my grip on my pen until my knuckles whitened.
This was exactly why I had avoided her this morning.
Not because I hated her.
Not because I didn’t love her.
But because every conversation with her lately ended the same way. Marriage. Marriage. Marriage.
As if my existence were incomplete without a man standing beside me.
As if my law degree were decorative until I had a ring.
As if my heartbreak were a childish phase instead of a wound that took months to close.
I wasn’t naïve. I knew other girls my age were married. Some already had children. Some seemed happy. Some genuinely were.
But I also knew myself.
I was stubborn.
Painfully honest.
And when something inside me shut down, it did not reopen easily.
Jeremy had not just broken my heart. He had embarrassed me. Made me question my judgment. Made me feel small for trusting him.
I had promised myself after that night, after the tears and the humiliation, that I would never allow anyone to hold that much power over me again.
Love was not weakness.
But it required vulnerability.
And I was no longer willing to be that vulnerable.
Professor Hensley’s voice droned on about breach of contract and legal remedies, but my mind kept circling back to the ultimatum.
End of the semester.
What exactly did my parents expect?
That I would walk into a coffee shop, point at a man and say, You will do. Please present yourself to my parents for evaluation.
The thought almost made me smile bitterly.
The boy I had once loved had promised me a future and disappeared when it became inconvenient.
Why would I go looking for another one?
A soft nudge hit my elbow.
I turned slightly.
Camille.
She raised an eyebrow at me, her expression curious.
You okay?
I nodded once, too quickly.
She didn’t look convinced.
Camille had known me long enough to read the smallest shifts in my mood. She had seen me at my best and at my worst. She had watched me crumble after Jeremy and had sat with me on the floor of my apartment eating ice cream straight from the tub.
If anyone would understand this pressure, it would be her.
But I couldn’t tell her.
Not yet.
The idea of saying the words out loud made them too real.
We will choose for you.
The lecture ended forty-five minutes later. I packed my things slowly, letting most students file out before me. Camille waited.
“What happened?” she asked the second we stepped into the hallway.
I hesitated.
If I told her, she would be furious. Protective. Dramatic.
“They gave me a deadline,” I said finally.
“For what?”
I swallowed.
“To find someone.”
Her eyes widened.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish.”
She stopped walking.
“Elena, that’s insane.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean actually insane. You’re twenty-four, not forty.”
I let out a humorless laugh.
“They said end of the semester. If I don’t bring someone, they’ll choose for me.”
Camille stared at me like I had just told her I’d been sentenced.
“Choose who?”
“I don’t know. Some respectable, well-established, pride-enhancing man.”
She ran a hand through her hair.
“You’re not actually considering this, right?”
I looked ahead, watching students cross the courtyard.
“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly.
Because the truth was, I didn’t know.
I loved my parents.
They weren’t monsters. They believed they were protecting me. Guiding me.
But guidance and control were two very different things.
“I’m not ready to marry anyone,” I said softly. “And I’m not going to pretend I am.”
Camille looped her arm through mine.
“Then don’t.”
Simple.
As if it were that easy.
As if family expectations weren’t heavy enough to bend your spine.
As if I hadn’t been raised to respect their decisions.
As if I didn’t still crave my mother’s approval even while resisting her.
We walked in silence for a while.
My phone buzzed again.
I froze.
Another message from Mom.
I love you. Do not mistake my firmness for lack of love. Everything I do is because I want you secure. Happy. Protected.
My chest tightened again.
That was the worst part.
She believed marriage equaled protection.
She believed a husband meant safety.
She didn’t understand that the only person who had ever made me feel truly unsafe emotionally had been the man I loved.
I slipped my phone back into my bag.
Four months.
I lifted my chin slightly.
Fine.
If they wanted me to find someone, I would try.
Not because I believed in it.
Not because I wanted it.
But because I needed to prove something.
That I wasn’t incapable.
That I wasn’t broken.
That I wasn’t hiding behind one failed relationship.
And if I reached the end of the semester without finding anyone?
Then they would choose.
The thought sent a strange shiver through me.
I didn’t believe in destiny.
I didn’t believe in fairytales.
But something about the certainty in my mother’s words felt heavier than usual.
Like a door had quietly closed behind me.
And I hadn’t even noticed it until now.
As Camille pulled me toward our next class, laughing about something trivial, I forced a small smile onto my face.
On the outside, I was still Elena Whitmore.
Law student.
Smart.
Stubborn.
Unafraid.
On the inside, a clock had started ticking.
And I had no idea who would be standing at the end of it.
- Writer
