Chapter 45 Daunting

Chapter 45 Daunting
Kevin didn’t give Sarah another second to spit out any more poison—he grabbed her arm, harder this time, and yanked her toward the door. She shouted something—my name, maybe, or another threat—but it all blurred into noise. The slam of the door echoed like a gunshot, and the moment it shut, my body finally gave out.

I sank to the floor the way a building collapses after standing too long on weak foundations—slow at first, then all at once. My knees hit the tiles, cold and unforgiving, but I barely felt it over the frantic rhythm hammering inside my chest. It felt like my ribs couldn’t contain it, like something was clawing to get out of me. My breath wouldn’t settle. It came in shaky, uneven bursts, scraping against my throat.

I pressed the heel of my hand against my chest, as if I could force the ache back down, bury it deep under my skin where no one—not Kevin, not Sarah, not Stephen—could touch it. But it stayed, raw and pulsing.

Everything felt too loud in my head—even in the sudden silence, I heard echoes. Sarah’s laughter. Her words. Kevin’s voice straining with anger. The rush of the shower still ringing in my ears. My own heartbeat pounding against my palms.

And underneath it all, the reminder—sharp and merciless—of what I’d become.

What this whole situation was turning me into.

Someone I didn’t recognize. Someone I didn’t even know how to stop.

My clothes clung to me, dripping cold water onto the floor, and I curled slightly inward, like my body instinctively wanted to protect itself from everything closing in. My throat tightened, but no tears came this time. I was past crying. I was past the shock. It was something else now—this heavy, suffocating pressure that made breathing feel like a chore.

Fear. Shame. Confusion. Anger. All of it tangled so tightly inside me I couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.

And yet the worst part—the part that pushed the deepest, sharpest ache into my chest—was that even after everything, the first name that surfaced in my mind wasn’t Sarah’s.

It was Kevin’s.

Because even though he dragged her out…

Even though he wanted to protect me…

Even though his anger was real and fierce…

He still wanted to let us go.

He still wanted to end it.

He still didn’t choose me.

My breath hitched, and I pressed my forehead to my knees as the heaviness inside me finally caved in, swallowing me whole.

Then I realized that my phone had been vibrating somewhere near my feet, but I was so lost in the haze of everything that had just happened that I barely registered the sound. It wasn’t until the sharp buzz pulsed again—insistent, rhythmic, almost angry—that I lifted my head, blinking through the fog.

The screen lit up with an unknown number. For a moment, I considered letting it ring out. I didn’t have the strength for another conversation, another problem, another person wanting something from me. But something in me—some tired instinct—made my thumb slide lazily across the green icon.

“Hello?” My voice was a cracked whisper, raw from crying, from shouting, from everything.

“Abby, it’s Jordan. Where the hell have you been?”

His voice was urgent, breathless, like he’d been running.

I closed my eyes. Of all people… “Jordan? How did you get my number? And I thought I made it clear I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

He cursed under his breath—a sound edged with panic rather than offense. “This isn’t about me, Abby. It’s about your father. He suddenly collapsed in the reception hall!”

My heart didn’t just skip a beat—it dropped, violently, like it fell straight through my chest and hit the floor.

“What?”

The word barely formed. It came out hollow, strangled.

Jordan exhaled sharply, frantic. “He’s unconscious. They’ve already called the ambulance. Abby—he just… he went down out of nowhere.”

My fingers went numb around the phone. The room blurred—not from tears this time, but from a wave of dizziness that rushed up and almost stole my balance even though I was already on the floor. I tried to breathe, but the air snagged in my chest, cutting itself into pieces on the way in.

My father.

My father who just got married.

My father who smiled at me this morning like it was the happiest day of his life.

My father who didn’t know that I was falling apart behind him.

Collapsed.

The word echoed like a scream inside my head.

I forced myself to stand, my legs shaking so hard it felt like they might give out at any second. I gripped the wall to stay upright.

“Where—where is he now?” My voice was tiny, breathless.

“They’re taking him outside. Abby, you need to come now.”

Something in me snapped back into motion.

Not fully, not cleanly—more like a broken machine grinding to restart. But it was enough. Enough to move, enough to breathe, enough to push the crushing weight of everything else aside.

There wasn’t room for heartbreak right now.

Or secrets.

Or Kevin.

Or Sarah.

Or the ruin I felt myself becoming.

There was only one thing that mattered in that moment—only one thing I could hear through the chaos pounding in my head:

My father needed me.

I moved without really seeing what I was doing, my body operating on instinct while my mind lagged behind in a tangled fog of panic. My clothes clung to me, heavy and cold, plastered to my skin like they wanted to keep me trapped in that moment—with Kevin, with Sarah, with everything falling apart. I clawed at the fabric, yanking it off with trembling fingers that didn’t feel like mine.

Buttons slipped from my grip. My hair stuck to my face. My breath kept catching in my throat, sharp and shallow, like I was breathing through a straw.

I couldn’t stop shaking.

I kept thinking—irrationally, obsessively—that if I didn’t hurry, if I didn’t change fast enough, something worse would happen to my father. Like the universe was holding its breath and waiting for me to move.

My wet shirt hit the floor with a dull smack. I fumbled with a dry one, almost putting it on backward, my hands shaking so hard I could barely pull the sleeves up my arms. My heart was beating too fast, thudding against my ribs like it was trying to warn me of something bigger, something worse that I wasn’t prepared for.

My mind kept replaying Jordan’s words on a loop.

He collapsed.

He’s unconscious.

Come now.

Each sentence felt like a strike to the chest.

And beneath that panic was another feeling—ugly, selfish, impossible to ignore—guilt. The heavy kind that sits deep in your stomach and makes you feel like you’re rotting from the inside out. I kept picturing myself—soaking wet, screaming at Kevin, losing control—while somewhere very close, my father was falling to the ground without me even knowing.

I grabbed my shoes with unsteady hands. My fingers fumbled with the laces, gave up, shoved my feet into them anyway. None of it mattered. I just needed to move.

My reflection flashed in the mirror as I passed, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I didn’t even recognize the girl I saw—eyes wild, cheeks blotchy, hair dripping, mouth open like I was still silently screaming.

Anxiety gnawed at every inch of me, crawling under my skin, squeezing my throat.