The shredded pieces of the check fluttered through the air like dying birds and slapped against Samuel's face. Shock coursed through him—not at the paper, but at the audacity. No one had ever dared confront him like that before.
His fists clenched, jaw tight, a storm gathering inside him. But he forced himself to breathe slowly, to hold back. Not out of fear—Samuel wasn't a man who bowed to raised voices. But this situation was different. She was different.
His eyes found Sherett standing across the room, her frame shaking, her face a storm of pain and fury. She looked... broken. And deep down, he knew—he had played a part in that.
So, he softened his voice. "I'm just trying to help you out…"
But Sherett lifted her trembling hands and folded them tightly as if holding herself together. "Please… don't help me anymore," she said, her voice raw. "It was my mistake. I never should've walked into your room last night. What happened…"
Her words fell apart as tears stole her breath. But she forced herself to continue, even as the tremor in her voice betrayed her strength. "All of this… it's my fault. I'll fix it. You don't need to do anything. And no—I don't want your money. Don't offer it again."
She turned sharply, heading toward the door, as if every second longer in that room would suffocate her.
"Wait... Sherett," Samuel's voice stopped her.
She froze, fingers grazing the door handle, but she didn't look back.
He approached slowly, carefully. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just… wanted to help. If you don't want the money, fine. But at least… let me drop you home."
She finally turned, eyes rimmed with red, lips set in a hard line. "No, thank you. I'll go by myself."
Her words were like ice. Cold. Final.
She wanted distance—from him, from the memories, from herself.
Still, he made one last attempt. "Are you sure you're comfortable going out like this?"
Sherett faltered. For the first time, she noticed the reflection in the nearby mirror—her swollen eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, the bruises on her neck and arms. She looked exactly like what she was afraid to admit—a woman who had been through something she didn't want the world to see.
Without another word, she gave a stiff nod.
This time, she didn't stop him from following her.
Samuel drove in silence. The engine hummed quietly, a dull soundtrack to the tension hanging between them. His eyes stayed on the road, but his mind churned.
Sherett sat stiffly, her gaze locked on the passing world outside the window, as if searching for a version of herself that didn't exist anymore.
Then, out of nowhere, she spoke. "Please… pull over."
He obeyed without a word.
Across the road was a modest pharmacy. Sherett reached into her bag, pulled out some cash, and extended it to him.
"I can't go there. You go instead," she whispered.
Samuel frowned. "What?"
She hesitated, swallowing hard. "It's a pharmacy. I need… anti-pregnancy pills."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Samuel didn't take the money. He simply nodded and stepped out.
Inside the tiny store, an old couple sat behind the counter. The woman, fanning herself, was in the middle of a heated scolding.
"I told you to fix that damn cooler. But no! You only listen when it's too late."
Samuel's entrance silenced them. Dressed sharply, with a presence that oozed wealth and command, he looked wildly out of place.
They stared.
He cleared his throat. "Do you have anti-pregnancy pills?"
The woman's eyes went wide. The man blinked, stunned.
Samuel's discomfort was written all over his face. "Do you have it or should I go elsewhere?"
"Ah—n-no, sir," the man stuttered. "We do. Would you like… local or imported?"
"Imported," Samuel said without hesitation. "With the least side effects."
The man nodded and began searching. Moments later, the pills were in Samuel's hands.
He paid and turned to leave when he heard the woman's voice behind him.
"Looks all decent, like he comes from a good family… but look at this. Men like him never learn. Won't use protection, and then push the burden on the girl."
Samuel paused. Jaw tight. Pride bruised.
But he said nothing.
Next door, he grabbed a bottle of water from a supermarket, paid quickly, and returned to the car.
Sherett sat where he'd left her, expression blank. He handed her the items.
"Thanks," she murmured.
She took the pill without flinching. It tasted like chalk and bitterness. But it was nothing compared to the guilt twisting inside her.
Samuel restarted the car.
Then came her voice—icy, sarcastic.
"Happy now? You saw me take the pills. No more doubts, right? That's what this was about, wasn't it? You just wanted to make sure."
Samuel didn't answer. He looked at her, really looked at her. Pain. Anger. Shame. All of it was etched across her face.
But he kept quiet. He knew her words were weapons built from hurt. And he'd already done enough damage.
She'd given him her address. So he drove.
And for the rest of the ride, silence reigned. Heavy. Unspoken. Unforgiving.
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