My Secret Deal 28

Lily’s POV

The second the door slammed behind us, I knew this wasn’t going to end with a conversation.
It was going to be a war.

“You’re lucky we don’t pull you from that school tonight,” my father barked, his voice slicing through the heavy silence of the living room.

I didn’t even get a chance to take off my shoes.

“You’ve disgraced this family,” he continued, his face flushed with anger. “We gave you everything, and this is how you repay us? Sneaking out. Fighting. Dating a delinquent?”

My mother stood with her arms crossed like a shield across her chest. Her lips were pressed together so tightly they looked bloodless.

“I barely recognize you,” she hissed, her voice trembling with fury.

“You don’t know me,” I said, my voice soft at first.

“What?” my father snapped.

“You never have,” I said again, louder this time.

My voice shook, but I made no effort to stop it. Let them hear it — every word of the truth they never cared to ask for.

“You knew my grades. You knew my test scores. You knew my schedule down to the minute. But you didn’t know me.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Lily,” my mother snapped, her arms tightening around herself.

“I’m not,” I said, my voice cracking despite the steel I tried to hold onto. “You knew what books I read, but not why I loved them. You knew where I was every second, but you never asked how I was.”

“We were protecting you,” my father said, his voice sharp.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You were controlling me.”

The silence that followed was cold and sharp enough to cut.

My mother stepped forward, her expression turning even harsher.
“Ever since you started seeing that boy, you’ve changed,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Good,” I whispered.

“What did you just say?” she demanded.

“I said good,” I repeated, louder this time, daring them to listen. “Because before him, I didn’t even know who I was.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she spat.

I took a step forward. “Am I? Was it ridiculous when I couldn’t breathe in this house? When I cried in the shower because it was the only place you wouldn’t ask why?”

“Enough!” my father snapped, the word booming off the walls.

“I wanted to die,” I shouted.

Their faces paled in unison, the room tipping under the weight of the words I could no longer hold inside.

And still, I didn’t stop.

“I stood on a bridge,” I said, my voice shaking. “I was ready to jump. Because trying to be what you wanted was killing me.”

My mother stumbled back like I had physically hit her.

My father opened his mouth, but no words came out.

The silence between us cracked something inside me — something deep and long-suffering.

“I smiled when I didn’t mean it,” I sobbed, my hands balling at my sides. “I obeyed. I overachieved. I did everything you asked. And none of it was me.”

My mother looked horrified, her hands shaking slightly at her sides.
“You—you were going to—” she began, but couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I didn’t jump,” I said.

“Why?” my father whispered, barely audible.

I inhaled sharply, trying to find the strength to say it out loud.

“Because Jake pulled me back,” I said, voice trembling but sure.

The silence that followed was even deeper.

“He saved me,” I said. “Literally. And after that night, he kept saving me. Every single day.”

My mother’s eyes darkened, her mouth tightening into a thin line.
“You’re brainwashed,” she said bitterly.

“No,” I said, standing up straighter. “I’m alive.”

“We’re done with this,” my father said, his voice slipping back into the icy tone he reserved for board meetings. “We’ve decided. You’re leaving.”

“What?” I asked, barely able to process the words.

“You’re going abroad,” he said. “St. Eloise Academy. It’s far away, quiet, elite. Exactly what you need.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

“You leave Monday,” he said, finality ringing in every syllable.

I laughed — not because anything was funny, but because it was so predictable it hurt.
“Of course you’d rather ship me off than actually listen to me,” I said.

My mother grabbed my arm.
“You’ll thank us later,” she said tightly.

“No,” I growled, yanking my arm free. “You don’t get to touch me.”

Her eyes widened, stunned by the venom in my voice.

I turned on my heel and bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
She followed, faster than I expected, her footsteps pounding against the wood.

By the time I reached my room, she was already behind me, slamming the door shut and locking it.

“You’re packing. Now,” she barked.

“I’m not going,” I said, standing my ground.

“Yes. You are,” she insisted.

She tore open my closet, yanking down suitcases, pulling drawers open with frantic, panicked energy.

I didn’t move at first.
Then I took one step.
And another.

I walked to the window — the same window Jake had climbed through a dozen times before.

I unlatched it, feeling the night air rush in.

“What do you think you’re doing?” my mother snapped behind me.

I didn’t answer.

I slung a hoodie over my shoulder and grabbed my backpack from the floor.

“You will not leave this house,” she said, lunging for me.

But I moved first.

I pushed her — not hard, but enough.

She stumbled back, gasping in shock.

I swung my leg over the window ledge.

The wind hit harder now, almost lifting my hair from my face.
The tree outside swayed gently under the porch light.

I had seen Jake do this climb dozens of times. But now it was me.

Branch by branch, I began to climb down.

One hand.
One foot.
Don’t look down.
Don’t think.
Just go.

Then my sneaker slipped against the smooth bark.
My hand missed the next branch.
And gravity yanked me down.

I gasped as the air tore from my lungs, the world tilting in a wild blur.

And then —

Black.