The whole house was drowning in wedding fever, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Everywhere I turned, there were fabrics draped over chairs, ribbons scattered on tables, and voices buzzing about flowers and dresses. My mother had already decided I would be her bridesmaid, as if she could force me into smiling while she handed me over to a man I never wanted in my life.
I stood by my window, my chest tightening.
It's my mother's wedding in a few days. I will either attend or make an escape out of this godforsaken house. And God knows I won't attend.
I grabbed my backpack and started shoving clothes into it, anything my hands touched, I stuffed inside. I had no plan, no destination. I just wanted to be gone, far away from the suffocating preparations and the life my mother was shoving down my throat.
The zipper screeched louder than I wanted, but I didn't care. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I crept to the door, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would give me away.
The scent of fried food wafted from the kitchen, mixed with bursts of laughter. My mother's laughter. It made my stomach twist. I pressed my lips together, slipped into the hallway, and headed for the front door.
Freedom was just a few steps away. I fumbled with the key, my fingers trembling so badly the metal rattled in the lock. Panic prickled through me. I held my breath, begging silently, Don't let anyone hear. Please, not now.
And then—her voice. Sharp. Clear.
"Amelia? Where are you going with that bag?"
I froze. The words sliced through me like a knife. My throat went dry. For a moment, I thought about running anyway, just bolting down the street and never looking back. But my feet wouldn't move. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my escape plan crumbling before it even began.
My pulse thundered in my ears as I forced myself to turn around, trying to mask the panic on my face.
"I… I was just going to visit a friend," I lied, and I prayed she wouldn't notice.
My mother stepped closer, her eyes narrowing, suspicion written all over her face. "At this hour? With a bag packed like you're moving out?"
Heat crept up my neck. I opened my mouth, scrambling for another excuse, but the words tangled on my tongue.
She folded her arms, her voice dropping into that firm tone I'd known since childhood. "Amelia, don't play games with me. You're not stepping out of this house till you learn some manners. I've given you enough freedom, and you've only used it to disrespect me."
Her words slammed into me, knocking the air from my chest. Grounded. Just like that.
I clenched my jaw, fighting back the scream building inside me. She didn't understand—she never did. To her, this wedding was joy, hope, a second chance. To me, it was a prison. And now she was locking me inside it, with no escape.
I dropped my gaze, pretending to surrender, but inside I was already plotting. If I couldn't leave tonight, I would find another way.
I slammed my door shut, the echo bouncing through the room like it wanted to remind me how trapped I really was. My legs felt weak, trembling as I leaned against the door. I could still feel the cold air from outside on my skin, the rush of freedom I almost tasted—gone now, replaced by the familiar stillness of my room.
I stumbled to my bed and sank onto it, burying my face in my palms. My heartbeat wouldn't slow down. What was I thinking? I could have just kept walking, kept running. But where, Amelia? the voice in my head snapped. You don't even know where you're going.
I lifted my head and stared at the floor, eyes unfocused. For a second, I imagined myself on the road, backpack slung over my shoulder, the world stretching endlessly ahead. No one to tell me what to do. No one to remind me that I was the problem. It sounded peaceful… until reality crept in. What if something happened to you out there? another voice whispered, softer this time. What if no one ever found you?
I sighed and hugged my knees to my chest, rocking slightly. "I just wanted to leave," I murmured to no one. "I just wanted to breathe."
The walls around me felt smaller now, pressing closer with every breath. My eyes drifted toward the window—the same one I had thought about climbing through so many times before. I could still do it. I could still run.
But what if it gets worse?
What if you regret it?
What if you never come back?
I shook my head hard, trying to silence the war inside me. I was tired—tired of being angry, tired of feeling like I didn't belong, tired of thinking escape would fix everything. Yet, even as I lay back and stared at the ceiling, the thought of leaving lingered, quiet but alive.
I closed my eyes, letting a single tear slip down my cheek. Maybe I wasn't brave enough to run away… but I also wasn't strong enough to stay.
It was morning. I woke up feeling a little lighter, calmer than last night when I almost ran out of the house.
"Hey, Amelia."
I turned, startled by the voice. It was Matt.
"Hmmm… Matt."
"Yeah, it's me. How was your night?" he asked gently. "Please, can I have a conversation with you?"
I sighed, my fingers tightening around the edge of the bedsheet. "I'm not in the mood to talk, Matt. It's too early to remind me how badly you want to be my father. And I'm not interested."
"This isn't about how badly I want to be your dad or anything," Matt said quietly. "Your mom told me you tried to leave home last night. I know how much you hate me, Amelia, but don't hurt your mother. She's really tried for you, and right now I think you're taking things too seriously. Why won't you just let her be happy?"
I stared at him, my nails digging into my palm. "I'm glad you know how badly I hate you — and your existence in my life, and in my mom's life. So why don't you just do me a favor and walk out of our lives? Then maybe she'd really be happy."
His lips parted like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.
"Please excuse me, I have school to get ready for."
He yanked my arm hard enough to burn. "Don't you dare speak to me like that," he said, low and dangerous. "I love your mother — I'm going to marry her and be your father, whether you like it or not. I'll teach you manners your good-for-nothing father never bothered with. Maybe he did the right thing by leaving you." He leaned in. "Spoilt brat." My breath stuttered; my legs wanted to run.
That was the moment I knew — I should be scared.
But how do I tell Mum the truth when she's already too deep in his lies?