Mavis had long since mastered the art of silence when her world was falling apart.
She sat quietly in the stiff leather chair across the administrator's desk, the cold hum of the air conditioner buzzing in her ears like a distant warning. Her hands were clasped tightly on her lap, the knuckles pale from pressure. She didn't speak, didn't blink, didn't flinch as the woman across from her slid a paper forward — a polite little death sentence printed in bureaucratic ink.
"If you can't settle the balance by the end of the week," the administrator said gently, her voice weighed down by fake sympathy, "you won't be eligible to graduate."
The words didn't hit her like a bullet. They didn't need to. They were slower, deeper — the kind of wound that seeps instead of bleeds.
Mavis nodded once. No tears. No outbursts. There was no room left for panic. Just a numb kind of acceptance, like the final stage of frostbite.
She wasn't surprised. Not anymore.
Mavis had always carried the kind of silence that people mistook for calm. But inside, it was just—empty. She was supposed to graduate this year. Supposed to make her parents proud. Supposed to be the first in the family to walk on that stage.
But she had ruined it.
It wasn't that her parents couldn't pay. They always had. Always would. But somewhere between trying to fit in and trying to disappear, she had made friends with people who never had to count bills at the counter. People with cards instead of cash. And slowly, quietly, she wanted to be like them.
So she borrowed. Then borrowed more. She wore the right clothes, ate in the right places, smiled like she belonged—until she didn't. Third year hit hard. The tuition piled up. The credit ran out. And one day, she clicked I agree on a loan form she hadn't read.
No collateral. Too good to be true.
It was.
Loan sharks don't care about grades or dreams or guilt. They just want your name, your signature, your soul. And when the calls started, when the threats arrived—she hid it. From everyone. Especially her parents. The same parents who gave up so much just to put her through college. Who believed in her. Always.
She had already failed herself. She couldn't let them see it too.
"I'm hom—" The door creaked open, her voice caught in her throat. Two men in black suits stepped past her, nodding politely on their way out.
Her blood turned cold.
"What was that?" she asked, though her feet were already moving toward the kitchen table, toward the papers—neatly stacked, signed.
She didn't need to read far. Her heart sank faster than her eyes could scan. They paid it. All of it. The loans. The interest. Everything.
Just like that.
No yelling. No lectures. No questions.
And that… that was the worst part.
Because now, in front of them, she wasn't just a daughter anymore. She was a liar.
Mavis stared at the neat stack of papers on the kitchen table like it was a corpse—her pride, murdered in silence. Her breath hitched as her father looked at her with those eyes, kind and tired. And her mother… she wasn't saying anything. Just watching her, like she was still trying to find their daughter in the mess that stood before them.
She took a step back.
"Why?"
The word barely escaped her lips, small and trembling.
Then louder—"Why?!"
The walls of her chest cracked. She wasn't supposed to shout. Not now. Not when they had solved it for her. Not when they had saved her again.
But that was the cruel part. That's what hurt the most. Because she had worked so hard to keep it all in—to protect the image they had of her. The perfect daughter. The achiever. The one who made them proud with every medal, every certificate, every sleepless night spent chasing something better.
She had made it. Almost. Despite everything… despite the debt, the lies, the quiet desperation—she had stayed near the top of her class. One foot from the finish line. But now?
Now she was just the girl who watched her parents sell the only home they ever had because she was too proud to ask for help.
"You shouldn't have done that," she spat, shame twisting her gut. "I had it under control."
She didn't. They all knew that. But she said it anyway, because her mouth kept moving while her heart begged her to stop.
Stop talking. Just hug them. Tell them the truth.
That she had been drowning. That the debt was a monster with fangs. That the fear had become a constant hum in her bones.
That she had tried—gods, she had tried—to fix it herself.
"Why do you always think my business is yours?!"
The words were knives. And she knew exactly where they landed.
Her father didn't flinch. "We can just move to a smaller unit, daughter," he said gently, as if his voice could stitch the wounds her rage was tearing open. "It's not a problem."
Her mother was still silent. Her jaw was set, her eyes unreadable. But she didn't interrupt. She let Mavis scream. Let her fall apart. Maybe she saw it—what Mavis hadn't shown anyone else. That she was standing on the edge of something dark. That one more push could send her over.
Mavis shook her head, hard. Her voice dropped to a whisper that scraped against her throat like broken glass.
"I don't need you."
I don't deserve you.
"You better take your house back. Or I'm never coming back again." Her breath came in ragged gasps. "Disown me if you want. Just—just stop saving me."
Why didn't I ever ask for help?
She turned and ran.
Behind her, she heard their voices—her name, sharp and desperate. They were the ones begging now. But it should have been her.
She didn't know why her legs moved. Why her heart thundered. Why she was running from the only people who had ever been on her side.
Maybe it was shame. Maybe it was fear.
Or maybe… maybe it was because she had never learned how to be forgiven.
The rain fell like it had been waiting for her.
It was a downpour. Fat, heavy drops that soaked her within seconds. The kind of rain that washed everything away. Her tears. Her guilt. Her voice. The sky cracked open with thunder, but she didn't flinch.
She wasn't afraid.
She didn't feel anything anymore.
Only the weight in her chest, crushing and constant, as if the world had placed its boot there and pressed.
So she stopped.
Right in the middle of the sidewalk, drenched and shaking.
What am I doing? she thought, her breath catching. Why did I run? Why didn't I just… hug them?
She could still go back. She had time. She could say sorry. Fall to her knees. Let them hold her like a child again.
And she turned.
Back toward home. Back toward redemption.
She crossed the street.
A bright light. A horn, long and blaring. Too close.
Her body froze as she looked up.
Metal roared toward her like an answer from the universe.
Then—impact.
A wet, sickening crunch of flesh against steel.
And that...was the only time her world went quiet.