My chest felt like it was splitting open.
Mom slid the iPad across the table, flipping it to a paused video—someone had caught us on the cliffs last night. A blurry but damning photo of me holding her, kissing her.
“She’s all over your social media. Your friends’. Do you think that’s safe? For her? For us?”
Dad folded his hands. “End it, Leo. Or we make sure every school board, every recruiting coach, every admissions office knows the type of mess you’re bringing with you.”
“And her?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
Mom didn’t blink. “We’ll bury her. Quietly. She’ll lose the scholarship. The credits. Probably won’t finish the year at Royal Oaks.”
The words were knives.
“She was underage when they did this,” I said. “Avictim.”
“And you’re not?” Dad asked, brows raised. “You didn’t ask for this either.”
I sat back. The air was thick. I couldn’t breathe.
They were going to destroy her.
The girl who trusted me. Who gave me every soft part of her. Who kissed me like I was worth something more than my last name.
And I couldn’t protect her.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just nodded once, the way I’d been taught to when defeat was the only way forward.
Mom smiled.
Not kind. Triumphant.
“I knew you’d see reason.”
Dad closed the file.
I stood. Shoulders back. Eyes dry.
I left the room without a word.
Without a sound.
But inside, something cracked.
And I wasn’t sure it would ever be whole again.
I didn’t say anything when they laid out the final terms.
“If you walk away from her now, clean and sudden, we’ll make sure her file stays sealed. The college contacts never hear a thing. She gets to keep her little soccer dreams.”
“And if I don’t?” I’d asked.
Dad answered that one. Calm. Controlled.
“Then we burn her down before anyone ever bothers to remember her name.”
The words made my stomach twist, but I didn’t flinch.
It wasn’t a choice.
