The cracks in a foundation don't appear all at once—they form slowly, quietly, until the weight becomes too much to bear.
The week following brunch at the Monroe residence felt like walking on eggshells.
Ethan and Vanessa fell back into their routine—classes, coffee at Brew Haven, study sessions in the library—but something had shifted. There was a tension in Vanessa that hadn't been there before, a distraction that pulled her attention away even when they were together.
Her phone buzzed constantly. Texts from her mother that she would read, frown at, and then delete without responding.
"Everything okay?" Ethan asked on Tuesday afternoon as they sat in their usual booth at Brew Haven.
Vanessa looked up from her phone, startled. "What? Yeah. Fine."
"You've checked your phone seventeen times in the last twenty minutes."
"Have I?" She set it face-down on the table. "Sorry. My mom's been... persistent."
"About what?"
"About you. About us. About how I'm 'making questionable choices.'" Vanessa's voice was tight. "She sent me another article this morning. This one was about the 'importance of compatibility in long-term relationships.'"
Ethan's chest tightened. "Subtle."
"Right?" Vanessa picked up her coffee, then set it down without drinking. "She's relentless. Three calls yesterday. Two the day before. Always just to 'check in,' but really to ask pointed questions about what we're doing, where this is going, whether I've 'thought about the future.'"
"What do you tell her?"
"Nothing that satisfies her." Vanessa rubbed her temples. "She wants me to say it's just a phase. That I'm getting it out of my system. But when I don't give her that—" She trailed off, her phone buzzing again.
She glanced at the screen and sighed. "She wants to have lunch tomorrow. 'Just the two of us.'"
"Are you going to go?"
"I don't know. Part of me thinks I should just ignore her until she calms down. But she's my mother." Vanessa looked tired. "And honestly? I don't think she's going to calm down."
Ethan reached across the table and took her hand. "You don't have to go if you don't want to."
"But then she'll just escalate. Show up at my dorm. Call my professors. She's done it before when I was 'avoiding her.'" Vanessa laughed bitterly. "She has this way of making everything feel urgent, like if I don't respond immediately, something terrible will happen."
"That's not healthy."
"I know. But it's how she is." Vanessa squeezed his hand. "I'll go to lunch. Get it over with. Maybe she just needs to feel heard."
Ethan wasn't convinced, but he nodded. "Okay. But call me after? Let me know you're alright?"
"I will. I promise."
Wednesday evening, Vanessa met her mother at an upscale French restaurant downtown—the kind of place where the menu had no prices and the waitstaff moved like ghosts.
Catherine was already seated in a private corner booth when Vanessa arrived, a glass of white wine in front of her. She looked impeccable as always—perfectly styled hair, designer dress, diamond earrings that caught the soft lighting.
But there was something brittle in her smile.
"Vanessa. Thank you for coming." Catherine stood and kissed her daughter's cheek—a gesture that felt more performative than affectionate.
"Hi, Mom."
They sat, and a waiter appeared immediately to take Vanessa's drink order. She asked for water.
"Not wine?" Catherine raised an eyebrow. "It's excellent. A Chablis from—"
"Water's fine."
Catherine's smile tightened, but she said nothing. They ordered—Catherine choosing for both of them without asking Vanessa's preference—and then they were alone.
"So," Catherine began, folding her hands on the table. "How have you been? You seem stressed."
"I've been fine. Busy with school."
"And with Ethan."
Vanessa's jaw tightened. "Yes. And with Ethan."
"Mm." Catherine took a sip of wine. "How is that going? Still... involved?"
"We're dating, Mom. Yes."
"I see." Another sip. "And you're happy?"
"Very."
"Are you?" Catherine's eyes were sharp. "Because from where I'm sitting, you look exhausted. Distracted. Not yourself."
"I'm fine—"
"You're not fine, Vanessa. You've lost weight. You have circles under your eyes. Your father says you've been withdrawn at home—"
"I've been at school, Mom. Not home. That's kind of the point of college."
Catherine's expression hardened. "Don't be flippant with me. I'm concerned about you."
"You're concerned about my relationship."
"Because your relationship is affecting you." Catherine leaned forward. "Darling, I understand the appeal. He's different from the boys you usually date. Novel. Exciting, even. But you need to think practically about this."
"Practically?"
"Yes. About the future. About what a relationship with someone like him actually means long-term." Catherine's voice was carefully controlled, almost clinical. "He comes from a completely different world, Vanessa. Different values, different expectations, different financial realities."
"I know that—"
"Do you? Because I don't think you've really considered what it means. Dating is one thing. But what happens when you graduate? When real life starts? When you have to make decisions about careers, about where to live, about—" She paused. "About family?"
Vanessa felt her throat tighten. "We haven't talked about that yet."
"Exactly. Because you're not thinking long-term. You're thinking with your emotions instead of your head."
"What's wrong with emotions?"
"Nothing. But they're not enough to build a life on." Catherine's voice softened slightly, taking on an almost sympathetic tone. "Sweetheart, I know this feels important right now. I know you think you love him. But you're twenty years old. You have your whole life ahead of you. Why limit yourself to someone who can't—" She stopped herself.
"Who can't what?" Vanessa's voice was sharp. "Say it, Mom. Someone who can't what? Afford me? Keep up with me? Give me the lifestyle I'm 'accustomed to'?"
"I wasn't going to say that."
"But you were thinking it."
Catherine's lips pressed into a thin line. "I was going to say someone who can't meet you where you are. Socially, professionally, experientially. Those things matter, Vanessa. More than you think."
"They matter to you."
"They matter in the real world." Catherine's voice rose slightly before she caught herself and lowered it again. "I'm not trying to be cruel. I'm trying to protect you from making a mistake you'll regret."
"Being with Ethan isn't a mistake."
"Isn't it?" Catherine tilted her head. "Be honest with yourself, darling. What does this relationship give you besides... what? A rebellion against your upbringing? A chance to feel noble about dating someone less fortunate?"
Vanessa's hands curled into fists under the table. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it? Because from where I'm sitting, this looks like a young woman trying to prove something. To me, to your father, to herself. And that's not a foundation for a real relationship."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Catherine's eyes were cold now. "I know more than you think, Vanessa. About relationships. About sacrifice. About what happens when passion fades and reality sets in."
There was something in her tone—something dark and bitter that Vanessa had never heard before.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Vanessa asked.
Catherine looked away, her jaw tight. "It means I've lived longer than you have. And I've learned that love, by itself, isn't enough. You need compatibility. Shared backgrounds. Common goals."
"Ethan and I have common goals—"
"Do you? Really?" Catherine turned back to her. "He wants to build a career in tech. Fine. But what does that mean? Working eighty-hour weeks at some startup? Moving to Silicon Valley? Living in a cramped apartment while he chases some dream that may or may not pan out?"
"You don't know that's what he wants—"
"And neither do you. That's my point." Catherine's voice was relentless now. "You're so caught up in the romance of it all that you haven't stopped to think about the practical realities. About what your life would actually look like with him."
"Maybe I don't care about practical realities."
"Then you're being childish." The words were sharp, cutting. "And I didn't raise you to be childish."
Vanessa felt tears prick her eyes—not from sadness, but from anger. "You raised me to be obedient. To do what you wanted, date who you approved of, become who you decided I should be. Well, I'm done with that."
Catherine's face went pale. "Vanessa—"
"I'm done, Mom." Vanessa stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I love Ethan. And I'm not going to let you manipulate me into doubting that."
"I'm not manipulating you. I'm trying to help you—"
"No. You're trying to control me. And I won't let you."
Vanessa grabbed her purse and walked out of the restaurant, leaving her mother sitting alone at the table, wine glass trembling in her hand.
Vanessa called Ethan from her car, tears streaming down her face.
"Can I come over?" Her voice was shaking.
"Of course. Always."
She drove to his apartment, barely seeing the road through her tears. When he opened the door, she fell into his arms.
"What happened?" he asked, holding her.
"She hates us. She hates this. She thinks I'm making a huge mistake and that I'm going to regret it and—" Vanessa's voice broke. "She said I was being childish. That I wasn't thinking practically. That love isn't enough."
Ethan led her inside, sat her down on the couch, and held her while she cried.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"It's not your fault."
"It kind of is. If you weren't with me—"
"Don't." Vanessa pulled back to look at him. "Don't do that. Don't give her that power."
"I'm just saying, your life would be easier—"
"Easier isn't better." She cupped his face. "Ethan, I don't want easy. I want real. And you're the most real thing in my life."
He kissed her forehead. "What did she say? Exactly?"
Vanessa told him everything—the comments about their different worlds, the questions about the future, the implications that Ethan couldn't give her the life she deserved.
"She's not entirely wrong," Ethan said when she finished.
Vanessa stared at him. "What?"
"About the practical stuff. We haven't talked about the future. About what happens after graduation. About where we'll live, what we'll do—"
"Because we're twenty years old, Ethan. We don't have to have everything figured out right now."
"I know. But she's going to keep pushing until we do." He took her hands. "And maybe... maybe we should start thinking about it. Not because she's forcing us to, but because we need to know we're on the same page."
Vanessa was quiet for a moment. "Are you scared we're not?"
"A little. Yeah."
"Me too."
They sat in silence, the weight of unspoken fears settling over them.
"I don't want to lose you," Vanessa whispered.
"You won't."
"But what if my mom is right? What if we're too different? What if—"
"Hey." Ethan tilted her chin up. "Stop. Don't let her get in your head like this."
"She already has."
"Then we push her back out. Together." He kissed her gently. "We're going to be okay, Vanessa. I promise."
She wanted to believe him.
But sitting there in his tiny apartment, with her mother's words echoing in her mind, Vanessa couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.
Across town, Catherine Monroe sat in her car outside the restaurant, gripping her steering wheel with white knuckles.
Her phone rang. Gregory.
"How did lunch go?" he asked.
"She walked out."
A pause. "What did you say to her?"
"The truth. That she's making a mistake. That this boy is wrong for her."
"Catherine—"
"Don't, Gregory. Don't tell me I'm wrong. Don't tell me I'm overreacting." Her voice cracked. "I'm losing her. Our daughter is slipping away, and you're just standing by letting it happen."
"She's not slipping away. She's growing up."
"It's the same thing."
Gregory sighed. "Come home. We need to talk."
"I can't. Not yet."
She hung up and sat there in the darkness, surrounded by the ghosts of her own fears, wondering when exactly everything had started to fall apart.
And knowing, deep down, that it was only going to get worse.