Chapter Twenty Sunny
I used to believe rock bottom was a moment.
A night. A heartbreak. One single terrible thing.
But the truth is—rock bottom is a slow leak. Quiet. Invisible. Until one day you realize you’re standing in what used to be your life, and the whole thing is underwater.
I stare at my phone—at Mrs. Markham’s email. Words I’ll never forget.
“Effective immediately, Sunshine Emerson is suspended pending investigation into professional misconduct.”
Professional misconduct.
For being loved. Or pretending to be.
I press my fist to my mouth because I don’t want to cry—not in front of Dylan, not in front of anyone—not when every decision feels like it’s slipping out of my hands.
“Sunny.” His voice is low. Careful. Like he thinks I’ll break if he says my name too loud.
I turn. He looks ruined—hair messy, shirt open at the throat, eyes dark with guilt.
“This isn’t your fault,” he says.
“It is,” I whisper. “It’s mine. I chose to stay. I chose this lie. I let myself forget that what I want doesn’t matter if the world decides otherwise.”
He steps closer—slowly, like approaching a frightened animal.
“I can fix this.”
Something inside me recoils.
Of course he wants to fix it. Dylan Knight fixes everything. He buys the problem. Silences the threat. Owns the world.
But I’m not the world.
“You can’t buy back my dignity,” I say.
His jaw tenses. “I can make a call—”
“No.”
He freezes.
“No more rescuing,” I say, voice shaking. “I am not running from one man who controlled my life just to fall into another’s hands.”
His eyes flash—not anger—pain.
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” he asks. “Controlling you?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just know I don’t want to lose myself to someone ever again.”
Silence burns between us.
The Wound Beneath the Words
I wrap my arms around myself. My cardigan sleeve has a loose thread—I pick at it like maybe if I unravel something on the outside, the inside will stay intact.
“Teaching is the one thing that’s mine,” I say. “My students… they don’t care who I’m pretending to be. They just care that I show up.”
“You will show up again,” he answers, fierce. “I’ll fight—”
“I don’t want you to fight for me,” I whisper. “I want to fight for myself.”
His shoulders drop—defeat tangled with pride.
“You think standing alone makes you strong,” he says. “But strength is letting someone stand with you.”
I swallow. “If someone stands with me, I want it to be because they love me. Not because they feel responsible.”
That word hangs there—love—like a match over gasoline.
He looks away.
And that silence…answers more than words ever could.
I step back.
Space between us feels like oxygen—and like I’m ripping off a limb.
“I need time,” I say.
He nods once.
Not acceptance. Restraint.
“This isn’t over,” he says. “You and I—we're not done.”
I don’t trust myself to answer.
Because I’m not sure what scares me more—that he might let me go…or that he won’t.
In the guest bathroom, I stare at my reflection.
Yesterday I looked soft. Today I look… carved.
Like someone honed me down into something sharper.
Maybe breaking is how you learn who you are when the pieces fall.
I put my hair in a ponytail. I put on jeans. I put on the armor of someone who won’t be small today.
I walk back to the living room, ready to tell Dylan I’m leaving for a while—to stay with Jenna or my mom or anywhere that isn’t here.
But the moment I step inside—
Someone else is already there.
Ethan.
My brother. Jaw tight. Arms crossed. Eyes full of betrayal and hurt and something worse—fear.
“I heard everything,” he says.
My blood chills.
He points to my ring. To my clothes. To my silence.
“This wasn’t just rumors,” he says slowly. “It was real. You and Dylan—what the hell have you been hiding from me?”
Behind him—Dylan appears in the hallway.
And I realize:
Whatever happens next—someone is about to bleed.