My father's statement was harder to watch.
"Our son is going through a difficult time," he said, his voice clipped and controlled. "We're confident he'll come home when he's ready. We ask for privacy as our family works through this."
No accusations. No anger. Just a father trying to protect his family's dignity while his world fell apart.
I'd expected fury. I expected him to denounce me, to call me ungrateful, to make it clear I was no longer welcome. That would have been easier; I could have been angry back and justified my running.
Instead, he just looked tired. Older in a way I'd never noticed before.
"He didn't say I was unwell," I said slowly.
"No."
"The articles are saying that, but he didn't say it."
Vance was quiet, letting me process it.
"I thought they'd be furious. I thought they'd disown me publicly, make it clear I'd shamed the family. But they're just..." I gestured helplessly at the screen. "Worried. Confused. Hurt."
"They love you."
The words hit harder than they should have.
"They love the version of me they created." The response was automatic, defensive. But even as I said it, I wasn't sure it was true. "Don't they?"
"I don't know your family." Vance pulled me against him, his arm solid around my shoulders. "But I know what fear looks like. Your mother is terrified."
"Because of the scandal..."
"Because her son disappeared. Because she doesn't know if you're safe." He paused. "The scandal is secondary. Any parent would be scared."
I thought about that: my mother's trembling hands, my father's careful words, Elizabeth's exhausted eyes.
I'd been so focused on my escape, my freedom, my desperate need to break free. I hadn't stopped to consider the wreckage I'd left behind.
"I'm a terrible person," I said quietly.
"You're someone who made a hard choice," Vance replied, taking my hand. "That's not the same thing."
"I hurt everyone who loved me."
"You saved yourself. Sometimes those things happen together."
I leaned into him, closing my eyes. The guilt didn't disappear, but having him there made it bearable.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay in the dark, listening to Vance breathe beside me, and thought about my family.
My mother, who'd spent my whole life trying to give me everything she thought I needed, meticulously planning my education, career, and future. Had it been control? Or love, expressed the only way she knew how?
My father, who'd never asked what I wanted because he assumed he already knew. Who'd seen my compliance as agreement and my silence as satisfaction. Had he been tyrannical? Or simply blind, unable to see that his son was drowning in a life that didn't fit?
Tristan, who'd refused to come to the wedding and looked at me with disappointment when I told him about the engagement. Not at me, but for me. Had he been judging my choices? Or was he the only one who saw the truth?
And Elizabeth. Sweet, kind Elizabeth, who'd done nothing wrong except agree to marry a man who could never love her the way she deserved.
I'd told myself I was the victim, forced, controlled, manipulated. Maybe that was partly true, but it wasn't the whole truth.
