23. Giselle
GISELLE
G iselle couldn’t stop pacing.
How could she let this happen?
Her parents were still seated in her living room, judgment still lingering in their expressions.
Giselle couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” she blurted out, brimming with anger. She stopped pacing, her gaze trained on them.
Her parents exchanged glances, and then, as though they’d rehearsed it, turned to face her.
“You okay, Giselle?” her mother asked.
Giselle was livid now. “Do you have any idea how many people you’ve driven away with your constant judgment?”
Her mother raised a brow, sitting stiffly on the couch. “Giselle, don’t be dramatic. We were only giving our perspective.”
“Your perspective?” Giselle repeated, her hands clenched. “Your ‘perspective’ just drove away the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time!”
Her mom straightened, adjusting the floral blouse she wore. “You’re speaking irrationally. We’re here to help you, Giselle. We’re trying to keep you on the right path.”
Giselle let out a short, humorless laugh. “The right path? Do you think this is the right path? You think pushing me into a life I didn’t choose, into becoming someone so closed-off I can’t let anyone in, was the right path?”
Her mother folded her arms, her gaze cool. “You’re being rude. After all we’ve done for you, the sacrifices we’ve made?—”
“Sacrifices?” Giselle’s voice rose, her control slipping. “You pushed me into medical school because it suited your image. You demanded perfection because anything less wasn’t acceptable in your world. And now, I’m…I’m unable to keep anyone close because of what you’ve turned me into.”
Her dad pressed his lips together, visibly uncomfortable. “We wanted the best for you—a respectable career, stability, and success. Is that so wrong?”
Giselle’s hands shook, but she held her ground. “The best for me? Or the best for you? You wanted a surgeon in the family, someone to brag about, someone who wouldn’t embarrass you. But did you ever stop to think about what I wanted?”
Her mother tilted her head, her expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief. “Giselle, you’re talking nonsense. We’re here because we care about you, not because we need some trophy daughter.”
Giselle crossed her arms, her shoulders tense. “You could have fooled me.”
There was a long, heavy silence. Her dad glanced around, then back at Giselle, as if unsure of how to handle her outburst. Finally, he leaned forward, his gaze sharp.
“You’ve become very disrespectful. This tone, this attitude, it’s…disappointing. We didn’t raise you to be ungrateful. ”
Giselle’s jaw tightened. “Ungrateful? I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me. I gave up my dreams and my relationships just to meet your impossible standards. And you have the nerve to call me ungrateful?”
Her mother sighed, glancing at the tea set on the table as if it held some deep wisdom. “You’re not seeing things clearly. You’re emotional, and you’re letting that cloud your judgment.”
“Cloud my judgment!” Giselle scoffed. “You two have the worst possible judgment.”
Her parents frowned. Mom shook her head from side to side, sucking her teeth in derision. Giselle wasn’t deterred. This scene was way too familiar. They’d act hurt and insulted, and she’d cower and apologize.
Not today.
“You should take that back,” her dad said.
Giselle scoffed again and pressed her hand to her forehead. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Take that back, Giselle,” Mom said.
Giselle shook her head. She wouldn’t do this again. She wouldn’t back down just because she had feelings. She wouldn’t let herself bend to their will every damn time .
“No.”
Her mother blinked, adjusting her gaze in horror. “Giselle?”
“What, Mom?” Giselle said. “I love you two, but at every turn, you make it clear that you love the idea of me being some medical robot than you love your own daughter.”
“And this Adelaide actually loves you, I suppose?” her dad scoffed.
“Adrienne, Dad,” Giselle retorted. “Her name is Adrienne Wolfe. Dr. Adrienne Wolfe, she’s a brilliant pediatric surgeon and I love her.”
Giselle felt peace wash over her as the words left her lips. She loved Addie. She’d say it over and over again. She loved Addie.
“I love her,” Giselle said. A smile creeped up her face, but didn’t last long.
“Adelaide, Adrienne…whatever,” her mother began. “She was?—”
“At least say her name right,” Giselle snapped.
“It doesn’t matter. She was just a distraction, Giselle. You don’t need to ruin a stable life over someone temporary.”
Giselle felt a surge of anger rise again, hotter than before. “Adrienne isn’t a distraction. Did either one of you hear anything I just said?”
“We did,” her dad said. “And we’re telling you?—”
“No, I’m telling you,” Giselle said. “Addie cares about me. Not about what I do for a living or how many accolades I earn. She sees me.”
Her dad straightened, looking offended. “And we don’t see you? Is that what you think?”
Giselle stood still, trying in vain to steady her breathing. It just wouldn’t work. No matter how hard she tried to get her parents to see how she felt, they seemed determined to ignore her wishes.
“Yes,” Giselle said. Her parents looked horrified, but Giselle didn’t back down. “That’s exactly what I think. You see a version of me that fits into your world, but you don’t know me. Not who I am, not what I want.”
Her mother’s gaze turned cold, a look Giselle had seen many times before. “We know what’s best for you, Giselle. We always have. And if you’d just listen, you’ll realize we’re right.”
Giselle took a step back, her hands dropping to her sides.
“No. You don’t get to make my decisions for me anymore. I’m done listening to what you think is best. You’ve controlled my life long enough.”
Her dad’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You’re being unreasonable. We’re only here because we care.”
Giselle threw her hands up. “Did you two even stop to think why I would ignore your calls and change my last name?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” her dad asked. “You’re obsessed with trying to do things yourself, even to your own detriment.”
“We’re just surprised you’re not done with that phase yet,” her mother added.
“Phase?” Giselle repeated, her jaw dropping.
“Yes,” her mother said. “We care about you, and that’s why we’ve always tried to help.”
Giselle shook her head. This was going nowhere. “Prove it,” she said.
“Pardon?” her mom asked .
“Prove that you care,” Giselle said. “Leave.”
Her mother looked at her, frowning. “You’re asking us to leave? After we came all this way to see you?”
Giselle nodded, her face set. “Yes.”
Her dad shook his head and stood up slowly, his look of disapproval clear. “This attitude…this lack of respect for your parents…it’s disappointing. We didn’t raise you to be so reckless.”
Giselle held her ground, her heart pounding. “Maybe I’m reckless. Maybe I need to be, just to finally get out of your shadow.”
Her mother rose, adjusting her blazer, her expression tense. “Fine. We’ll leave. But don’t come crying to us when this little rebellion of yours falls apart.”
Giselle didn’t respond, watching as they gathered their things with precise, practiced movements.
At the door, her mother paused and looked back at Giselle with something between anger and disappointment. “I hope you realize how ungrateful you’re being. After everything we’ve done for you. ”
Giselle met her gaze, her expression unwavering. “Maybe I am ungrateful. But at least I’ll be free.”
Her mother shook her head and turned away, and without another word, they left, the door clicking shut behind them.
As soon as they were gone, Giselle’s shoulders slumped. She’d said what she needed to, but now that the words had left her, she felt like she’d thrown them into a void.
She sank onto the couch, her hands shaking slightly.
Today wasn’t supposed to end like this. This was supposed to be the day she and Addie took their romance to a whole new level. This was supposed to be their day.
Now everything had shattered before it could even begin. Her parents’ interference had cost her love.
Her gaze fell to the empty teacups on the table, the steam long gone, leaving only the faint scent behind. She felt drained, as though every ounce of energy had been wrung out of her.
Giselle walked toward her bedroom, the house silent around her and her phone heavy in her hand. She unlocked the screen, Addie’s number sitting at the top. The urge to call pulsed through her, but she hesitated, her thumb hovering just above the screen.
She wanted to reach out and hear Addie’s voice, to apologize and explain. But the words wouldn’t form even in her head.
The phone slipped from her grip, landing on the floor with a dull thud.
She stared down at it, unable to make herself pick it up.
Addie was better off without her, wasn’t she?
Away from this mess, from the constant push and pull that Giselle’s life had become.
What right did she have to pull Addie back in?
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the empty room, the anger sparking again.
Her parents had always done this—reached into her life, pulled the strings, and made her believe she was somehow incomplete without their guidance.
And now, even after she’d told them to leave, their voices lingered, their judgments still crowding her thoughts.
Giselle clenched her fists, then released them, feeling the exhaustion set in. How many relationships had they ruined? How many times had she kept people at a distance, thinking it was for the best?
She wanted Addie, she knew that now, but she had no idea where to begin. Maybe, in the end, she was just like her parents—cold, methodical, unwilling to let anyone close enough to see her. The thought left her empty.
She didn’t move for a long time, the house darkening around her as evening settled in. She had no energy to turn on the lights or do anything that might interrupt the silence. She sat alone, watching the shadows stretch across her walls, the house as still as she was.
Finally, she rose and walked to the kitchen, thinking she should eat something. She opened the fridge, her eyes falling on leftover vegetables, eggs, everything she’d need to cook something half-decent.
She stared at them for a few seconds, considering it, but her shoulders sagged at the thought of going through each step. She didn’t have it in her. Not tonight.
She closed the fridge, reached for the cereal box in the cabinet, and then poured some into a bowl. She added milk, the motion automatic, and walked over to the dining table. She set the bowl down and sat, her fingers tapping against the cool wood of the tabletop.
The quiet was heavier here, stretching between her and the bowl in front of her, filling the space she’d once thought she could share with Addie.
She took a spoonful of cereal, staring into the bowl as if it held the answer to all her problems. And then, as she chewed, the realization settled in.
She’d done this.
She’d kept Addie at arm’s length, afraid to let her in completely.
Afraid that if she did, she might have to change.
She’d fallen into the same careful, rigid patterns her parents had drilled into her, believing that control meant safety.
And now, that same control was slipping through her fingers, leaving her with nothing but an empty house and a fading chance at the happiness she’d found with Addie.
She lowered the spoon, her appetite gone. If she didn’t change—if she didn’t let herself risk it, let herself truly care—she would lose Addie for good. The thought sat heavily with her. The only sound in the room was her own shallow breathing as she looked down at her untouched bowl.