Breakfast was quiet. Too quiet.
Matt sat across from me at the dining table, his posture straight, his smile practiced. My mother fluttered around the kitchen like a schoolgirl, humming as she set down plates of fried eggs and toast.
It was almost laughable, her glowing happiness, the way she looked at him like he was some kind of savior. But the only thing I could think about were the words I'd overheard last night.
Even if I have to make her.
The words echoed in my mind, sharp and unforgiving.
"Eat something, Amelia," Mom said, breaking my thoughts. "You've barely touched your food."
"I'm not hungry." My voice came out sharper than I intended.
Matt's smile didn't falter. He took a slow sip of coffee, then leaned slightly toward me. "Your mother tells me you're a brilliant student. Top of your class, right?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Something like that."
He chuckled, as though my coldness amused him. "Good. Education is everything. I admire discipline in young people."
It wasn't what he said that bothered me. It was how he said it. His tone was smooth, controlled, like every word was carefully chosen. As though he was performing, rehearsing a role.
Mom shot me a warning glance. "Amelia, don't be rude."
"I'm not." I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I'm late for school."
School was no escape. Grace noticed my mood the moment I walked into class.
"What's wrong with you?" she whispered, tugging at my sleeve. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I bit my lip, wondering if I should tell her about what I'd overheard. But something inside me hesitated. What if she didn't believe me? What if she said I was being dramatic?
"Nothing," I muttered. "Just tired."
She frowned but didn't push. Still, her eyes followed me all day, and I hated that she could see through me so easily.
By the time I got home, Matt's car was parked in front of the house. Sleek, black, expensive. He was inside, talking with my mother, their voices carrying through the open windows.
I froze at the gate, my stomach twisting.
I didn't want to go in. I didn't want to see his smile again, the smile that now looked more like a mask than anything genuine.
But the door creaked open, and there he was. Matt, stepping outside, his hand on the doorknob as though the house already belonged to him.
"Amelia," he greeted warmly. "Back from school?"
I nodded stiffly.
His eyes lingered on me, studying me in a way that made my skin crawl. Not inappropriate, not yet—but heavy. Like he wanted to figure me out.
"You know," he said, his voice low, "I hope we can find common ground. Your mother means a lot to me, and I'd like us to get along. That would make her very happy."
"I didn't ask for any of this," I shot back before I could stop myself.
His smile faltered for just a second. Just a second. Then it was back, wider than before.
"Sometimes we don't ask for blessings," he said softly. "They just happen."
He stepped past me, brushing lightly against my shoulder. My heart skipped. Not from warmth. From unease.
I watched him drive away, the black car disappearing down the road, and I realized something chilling, He wasn't just trying to win over my mother. He was trying to break down me.
That night, I lay awake again, staring at the ceiling. The whispers from last night haunted me, and now every look, every word from him carried a weight I couldn't ignore.
Was I overthinking it? Was I just jealous, like Mom always accused me of being? Or was there something darker beneath his perfect smile?
That night, I lay awake again, my eyes fixed on the ceiling as if the answers to my questions were written in its cracks. Sleep refused to come. The whispers from last night clung to me like shadows I couldn't shake off. And now, every smile, every word, every glance from him carried a weight I couldn't ignore.
Was I just imagining things? Was I letting my fears twist reality? Maybe Mom was right all along,maybe I was jealous. But deep down, it didn't feel like jealousy. It felt heavier, darker, like a storm quietly gathering inside me.
Matt.
I didn't know how to react, how to stop him from stepping into our lives. My mother's face glowed with happiness whenever he was around, and a part of me wondered if I was the one standing in the way of her joy. Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I should just give him a chance.
But the thought of Matt as a father figure tore something open inside me. His presence wasn't the problem it was what he represented. Having him around would be a constant reminder of the man who left me, the father whose absence carved scars so deep they never healed.
It wasn't Matt I hated. It was the idea of a "father." The word itself felt poisoned in my mouth.
I thought I had buried those memories, but they were still there, every silent night I cried myself to sleep, every birthday candle I blew out wishing for someone who never came. Those traumas were chains I never asked to carry, a cross I couldn't put down no matter how hard I tried.
Not even my best friend knew the weight I dragged behind me. They saw my smile, my laughter, but not the brokenness underneath. Because how could I explain it? How could I put into words the way men, fathers, promises they all blended into the same wound?
And now, standing on the edge of this new chapter, I wasn't sure if I could let Matt in… or if letting him in would only destroy me further.
And now, as I lay there in the dark, I wondered.
Was I broken beyond repair? Or was I just too afraid to let someone in?
That night, I went to bed with too many thoughts weighing on me. My head kept replaying every smile, every word from Matt, and I wondered if maybe I was just being unfair. For hours, I turned from side to side, trying to escape my own mind. Eventually, exhaustion won, and I sank into sleep.
When morning came, I woke up feeling different lighter, calmer, as if the storm in my chest had finally slowed down. For once, I wasn't angry. I wasn't drowning in pain. I just… breathed.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the sunlight sneaking in through the curtains. A thought came to me, small but sharp: maybe I could try. Just once.
The word family had always sounded wrong to me, like a joke told at my expense. It reminded me of everything I'd lost, everything I never had. But Mom loved that word. And Matt… he seemed so eager to be part of it.
So maybe I could swallow my hate. Maybe I could stop running.
When breakfast came, I walked into the dining room slowly, my heart thudding like it wanted to drag me back to my room. Mom's eyes widened the moment she saw me, and her whole face lit up like the sun.
"Amelia," she said softly, smiling as though she'd been waiting forever. "Come sit, honey."
Even Matt smiled. Calm. Warm. Like he'd won some invisible battle.
I pulled out a chair, forcing my body to move even though every bone in me resisted. The sound of the chair scraping against the floor echoed louder than my heartbeat.
I sat down, picked up a spoon, and whispered to myself where no one else could hear:
I'll try. Just this once… I'll give him a chance.