Chapter 23 The Photograph
The photo stared back at me like a death sentence.
I stood frozen near the back wall as the rehearsal noise faded into a distant hum. My phone screen glowed with the image — me in the café bathroom, head thrown back, Eli’s hand under my skirt, my face twisted in pleasure. The angle was clear enough to destroy both of us.
My knees nearly buckled.
'Oh God…'
Someone had been watching us. Someone had taken this. And now they were threatening me right before the Purity Ball.
I had everything to lose. My reputation. My mother’s trust. My future. If this got out, I wouldn’t just be shamed — I could be disfellowshipped, ostracized, or worse. In this community, girls had disappeared for less. My town had always been peaceful, but I knew what they did to “fallen” girls behind closed doors.
Tears blurred my vision. I felt sick. Small. Dirty. Like the whore they would call me if this ever leaked.
I had to tell Eli.
I found him near the side exit, talking to one of the elders. The moment he saw my face, he excused himself and pulled me into a quiet corner behind the stage curtains.
“What?” he asked, voice low.
My hands shook as I showed him the phone. The photo. The message.
Eli stared at the screen for a long moment. A flash of shock crossed his face — real, raw shock. Then, just as quickly, it vanished. His expression went cold. Distant. Like he had flipped a switch.
“I’ll handle it,” he said flatly.
That was all.
No comfort. No “It’s going to be okay.” No explanation. Just “I’ll handle it” like I was an inconvenience he needed to clean up.
“Eli…” My voice broke. “That’s all you’re going to say? Someone has proof of us. They’re threatening me right before the Ball. I’m terrified. I feel like I’m going to be killed for this.”
He looked at me, eyes hard. “I said I’ll handle it, Abby. Go home.”
The coldness in his tone shattered something inside me.
This was because of what I did at rehearsal with Josh. I had hurt him. Rebelled. Made him jealous on purpose. And now he was punishing me with this icy distance.
I expected him to be mature. To hold me. To tell me we’d face it together. Instead, he was treating me like a problem.
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “You’re really going to walk away right now? After everything?”
The moment he gave me that cold, distant look and said he would “handle it,” something inside me snapped. I shoved my phone back into my pocket, tears streaming down my face.
“Don’t bother,” I hissed, voice breaking. “I’m done. I’m so done with you treating me like your dirty little secret.”
I turned and walked away before he could say anything else. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.
The walk home was a blur of tears and fear. Every shadow made me flinch. Every car that passed felt like it was following me. By the time I reached the house, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand.
I went straight to my room, locked the door, and collapsed on my bed.
The photo kept flashing in my mind — my face twisted in pleasure, Eli’s hand between my legs. Someone had been watching us. Someone had proof. And they were waiting for the perfect moment to destroy me.
I cried until my throat was raw. Until my eyes were swollen. Until my chest hurt so much I thought it might split open. I cried for the girl I used to be. For the love I thought I had found. For how stupid and naïve I had been to fall so hard for Elijah Whitaker.
I cried myself to sleep, still in my rehearsal dress, clutching my pillow like it could protect me from the coming storm.
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The next day was Sunday — the final Sunday before the Purity Ball, came too fast.
Mom knocked on my door early. “Abby, time for service. You need to get ready.” I woke up with swollen eyes and a heavy heart.
I dragged myself out of bed, eyes puffy, head throbbing. I felt feverish. Mom tried talking to me, but I gave short answers. I couldn’t look her in the eye.
During the car ride to church, I stayed completely quiet, staring out the window. The trees blurred past, but all I could see was that photo. The threat. Eli’s cold face. The fiancée he had never mentioned.
“You look pale,” she murmured. “Are you feeling alright?”
I swallowed hard. “Just tired.”
Then she reached over and felt my forehead.
“You’re burning up, baby. Do you have a fever?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, pulling away gently.
She didn’t look convinced. “You’ve been so quiet lately. And after that argument the other night… I’m worried about you, Abby. That has never happened before. Talk to me.”
I stayed silent for a long moment, then asked the question that had been eating at me.
“Mom… why is the pairing at the Purity Ball such a big deal? Everyone acts like it decides your whole future.”