CHAPTER 12 – BREAKING POINT #2
Jack holds my gaze, blue eyes steady. “I mean it. You’re with me a lot already. You hate being at home. And if you lived with me, you could stop sneaking around. No more lies. No more hiding, and telling them you’re at Tara’s place. They probably think her parents are getting ready to adopt you.”
I smile shakily and try to picture it—my clothes in his closet, coffee mugs with lipstick prints on his kitchen counter, the sound of his laugh in the morning instead of my mother’s suspicious huff.
For a split second, it seems possible. For a split second, I can see myself happy, playing house with this man.
But then reality elbows in, hard.
“What about my parents?” I ask. “What about your friendship with my dad? If he finds out, it’ll kill him. And he’ll hate you forever.”
Jack shrugs, but there’s a heaviness in it. “Maybe he will. Maybe he’ll come around. But I’m not going to let you drown just to keep Gerald’s feelings safe. You deserve to be happy, Eliza. Not in five years, or ten, or whenever your parents come around. Now.”
My heart squeezes in my chest, then does a weird, reckless flutter.
I start to answer, but my phone buzzes with a text from the office: URGENT. Partner needs draft by 10 a.m. Oh shit.
I look up, desperate. “I have to go. I’ll be late for work.”
He nods, not letting go of my hand until I stand up.
“I’ll think about it,” I promise, but I know the words are weak.
He gets to his feet as well, towering over the table, and for a second, it looks like he wants to kiss me, right here in the morning daylight, right in front of god and the hungover barista working the espresso machine. I almost wish he would.
Instead, he just says, “Text me when you get there. I want to know you’re safe.”
I nod, turn to go, but stop at the edge of the table.
“Thank you,” I say softly, and I mean it.
Jack gives me that smile again—the one that says, “You’re stronger than you think.”
As I walk out, the cold hits me like a slap, but it’s not enough to wake me up.
The rest of the day, my mind is a whir of what-ifs and never-weres and maybe-somedays, all spinning around a single, terrifying thought: What if I finally choose myself, for once?
What a novel idea. What would happen if I chose myself? If I decided to be honest about what I want, and stopped hiding?
The possibility terrifies me, but also lifts me with hope because I can’t keep doing this … and I don’t want to either.
By the time I get home, it’s dusk, the kind that smears everything gray and makes the day feel over already. The porch light is on, a sickly LED that turns the front step into an interrogation room.
I open the door and my heart stops because there they are: both parents in the living room, TV off, wine untouched on the end table.
Nancy is perched on the edge of the sofa, spine rigid, phone in one hand like it’s a crucifix.
Gerald is in his battered leather armchair, elbows on knees, hands knotted together so tight I can see the veins.
They don’t say anything at first, just watch me cross the room and drop my bag by the stairs.
“Hi,” I say with a forced smile. “What’s going on?”
“Sit,” my dad says, and the tone is a bad omen.
I obey, tucking my legs up under me, wishing for armor, or a time machine, or a hole to swallow me whole.
Nancy starts it off. “Your father and I are worried about you, Eliza.”
I nod, waiting for the drop.
“You’re out late,” she says. “You’re secretive. Your work calls happen at odd hours and you’re always shutting your door.”
Dad picks up. “Plus, you never tell us where you’re going. Or if you do, you say you’re at Tara’s. Is that really realistic? Do you go over to Tara’s three or four times a week, every week?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I have nothing left in the tank. Not a single fresh lie, not even a half-decent cover.
“Are you on drugs?” Nancy demands, and there’s actual fear in her voice. “Or is it something worse?”
I almost laugh. “No, Mom. I’m not on drugs.”
“Are you seeing someone?” Gerald asks, voice hard. “Is that what this is about?”
My heart stalls. I want to say, “Yes, and it’s your best friend, the one you think is a hero.” But my tongue won’t work. I just sit, blank, the air crackling with expectation.
Dad leans forward, voice dropping. “Look, honey, if you’re in trouble, if you’re being blackmailed, or if someone’s hurting you, you need to tell us. We can help.”
I shake my head. “I’m not in trouble.”
“Then why all the secrecy?” Nancy says. “Why do you keep sneaking around? Why are you always so tired?”
I look up at them—my parents, the people who made me, whom I’ve been lying to for months. There’s so much hurt in my mother’s eyes, and so much stubborn, scared pride in my father’s. I could tell them the truth, right now. It would shatter everything, but at least it would be real.
But I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I say, “I just… I don’t know. I’ve been working too much, I guess. It’s a lot.”
Dad shakes his head. “That’s not good enough, Eliza. We deserve better than that.”
Something in me gives. “I’m sorry,” I say, and the tears come again, not as dramatic as this morning but more honest, burning my throat and blurring the room.
Nancy reaches for my hand, but I pull away. “I need to go to my room,” I say, and they call after me, but I ignore it. I take the stairs two at a time and slam the door.
Inside, I strip off my coat and crawl under the covers, phone in hand, heart beating a bruised tattoo against my ribs.
I dial Jack. He picks up before the first ring finishes.
“Hey, baby,” he says, voice low and so real it’s like he’s in the bed with me. “Are you alright?”
I can’t speak for a second, just breathe and listen.
Finally, I say, “They know, Jack. Not everything, but enough. They’re never going to leave me alone now. I feel like a criminal.”
He sighs, heavy with sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know this isn’t easy.”
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t lie anymore, but if I tell them, I lose everything.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “You don’t lose me. You’ll never lose me.”
It helps, a little. But the ache is still there, old and deep.
Jack continues. “You can keep pretending, but it’s eating you alive, sweetheart, and it’s obvious that you can’t keep going like this.
So you can come clean, risk the fallout, but at least you’re free.
Or you can just pick up and walk out. Move in with me, let the dust settle later.
I’ll back you up, no matter what you choose. ”
I clutch the phone so tight my fingers go numb.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I wish I was stronger, but I don’t know what to choose.”
He laughs, gentle. “You’re already the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”
We talk for a little while, not about the problem but just small talk that gets my mind off my conundrum. We discuss the neighbor’s barking dog, the Twins’ chances this year, the other weird neighbor who dresses up his mailbox for every holiday. The tension ebbs, just enough for me to exhale.
After we say goodnight, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows mutate as cars pass by on the street outside. Sleep is impossible. My brain spins the same three options, over and over:
Option One: keep lying, keep going, until it all blows up or I vanish under the weight.
Option Two: tell the truth, blow up my life, lose my parents’ trust, maybe forever.
Option Three: leap. Move in with Jack, change my number, start over from scratch, hope the pieces land somewhere safe.
I think about the cam shows, the paralegal job, the secret joy of being Jack’s girlfriend, even if he’s twice my age and my dad would set him on fire.
I think about the way Jack looks at me—hungry, proud, and like he’d never ask me to be anything but myself.
I think about my mother’s face when she found the lingerie, about my father’s voice when he said I was “killing him” with the secrecy.
Somewhere between 3 a.m. and 4, my brain just… stops. I go numb, all the way through.
But when the sun comes up, filling the room with ugly, honest light, I know exactly what I’m going to do.
No more lies. No more halves. No more hiding.
Even if it means losing everything.