Chapter 12: The Fallout
789 Words
Tracy Rsman’s POV
Seeing my mother standing there felt like judgment day had shown up early—no warning, no mercy.
I was still halfway between last night and reality, my body sore, my head foggy, my soul hungover. And there she was. Mrs. Ana. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. A woman who could diagnose disease in seconds and disappointment even faster.
To make it worse, I was wrapped in a man’s oversized shirt and sweats. Clothes that weren’t mine. Clothes that smelled like expensive cologne and bad decisions.
“Young lady,” she said, her voice cold and clinical, “where are you coming from?”
My brain scrambled. Panic chose violence.
“I slept over at a friend’s place,” I blurted. “Calista’s.”
Wrong answer.
“That’s a lie,” Jason’s voice cut in from behind me. “I called her. Tracy wasn’t there.”
I turned. My brother stood in the hallway, eyes flicking to my clothes, putting pieces together I wasn’t ready to explain.
Fine. New lie. Worse one.
“I—I had a panic attack,” I said quickly. “I drove around and slept in a motel when it got late.”
Jason scoffed. “Then why are you wearing men’s clothes?” His voice cracked—not with concern, but betrayal. “Why the hell are you lying?”
Something snapped.
“Why the hell is my life your business?” I shot back, adrenaline flooding my veins. “You want the truth? Fine. I went clubbing. I met someone. It was a one-night thing. There. Are you satisfied?”
Silence slammed into the hallway.
Then Jason laughed—sharp and ugly.
“Wow. I didn’t know my sister was a whore.”
That word landed like a slap.
“Well now you do,” I spat back. “At least I don’t go around kissing someone I call my brother in public.”
His face went pale. My mother stepped forward before it could explode further.
“Enough,” she said quietly, disappointment dripping from every syllable. “Tracy, the last time we spoke, you still had your innocence. Don’t tell me you let a stranger take it.”
The question hollowed me out.
But recklessness had already grabbed the wheel.
“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin. “That’s exactly what happened. And can’t you tell from the way I’m walking?”
Jason stared at me like he didn’t recognize me.
“See?” he said to Mom. “She’s not even ashamed.”
“Whatever,” I snapped. “I’m legal. And you both need to stay out of my personal life. I want space.”
My mother’s hand lifted.
Before it could land—
“Anna.”
My father’s voice thundered from the staircase.
He stood there, tall and furious—but not at me.
“Tracy,” he said calmly, dangerously calm, “go to your room. We’ll talk later.”
I didn’t hesitate. I bolted upstairs, shut the door, and collapsed onto the floor like my bones had finally given up. The sobs came hard and fast, ripping out everything I’d been holding together.
Downstairs, the war broke loose.
“You were going to hit her?” Dad barked. “You’re a doctor—did you even check if she’s okay?”
“She disrespected me—”
“She’s a child who came home broken!” he snapped. “If you can’t act like a mother when it matters, don’t touch her.”
“I will not quit my job for this family!”
“Then don’t lay hands on my daughter,” he fired back. “They are my children too.”
Footsteps climbed the stairs. A knock.
“Tracy,” Dad said softly. “Open the door.”
I did. The moment I saw him, I broke again. He held me like the world hadn’t just tried to chew me up.
I told him everything—the school stress, the drive, the club, the stranger, the drink. I spared him the details but not the truth.
His jaw tightened. His arms held firmer.
“My poor baby,” he whispered. “Listen to me. I have a beach house in Los Angeles. You can stay there. Continue school. Get space.”
I didn’t even think.
“Yes,” I said immediately.
“Good. Pack what you need. A jet will be ready in an hour.”
Relief hit me so hard it almost hurt.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you more,” he said. “Now go. Pack.”
And just like that—
I was running toward escape.
Toward distance.
Toward whatever came next.
- Writer
