ALYSSA
“Please, Alyssa, stop this,” Tom said, his voice dripping with frustration. “You’re only going to get hurt if you keep pushing yourself to be with Jake. Have some shame on yourself. Don’t stoop so low. You are not the woman I know before, modest and conservative.”
His words hit me like a slap across the face, but not the kind that leaves a sting on your skin—it was deeper, the kind that leaves a bruise inside. I clenched my fists, the anger bubbling up in my chest, until I couldn’t hold it back any longer.
“How dare you say that to me!” I lashed out, my hand flying before I could think. The slap echoed in the small room, and Tom stood there, shocked, his hand rising to touch the spot where I had struck him. His eyes were wide with surprise.
“You’re telling me to have shame?”
