Emily

The week was over. Emily stood at the end of the driveway, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the familiar house. It looked the same as it always had—warm, inviting, and full of memories. But now, it felt like a fortress, its walls holding secrets she wasn't sure she was ready to face. She had spent the past week in a hotel with her father, Karl, both of them tiptoeing around each other like strangers. The silence between them had been heavy, broken only by the occasional awkward comment about the weather or the food. Emily had wanted to ask him about Luna, about You, about anything, but the words always caught in her throat. Now, Karl was waiting in the car, giving her the space she had asked for. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" he had asked, his voice tinged with concern. Emily had shaken her head, forcing a small smile. "No, Dad. This is something I need to do on my own." But as she stood there now, she wasn't so sure. Her palms were sweaty, her stomach churning with a mix of guilt, fear, and hope. She had no idea what had happened during the past week. Had You stayed? Had he forgiven Luna? Or had he cut ties with the family and left, unable to bear the weight of what had been done to him? The thought made her chest tighten. She had caused this. All of it. And now, she had to face the consequences. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The morning air was crisp, the kind that made you feel alive, but Emily felt anything but. She glanced down at her hands, clutching the strap of her bag like a lifeline. Her mind wandered back to Samantha, as it often did. Samantha had been her rock, her safe haven, but lately, small doubts had begun to creep in. Her family hadn't abandoned her when she came out—they hadn't even mentioned it. They had just… accepted her. It wasn't what Samantha had warned her would happen. "Stop it," she told herself. "Focus on what's in front of you." She took a step forward, then another, until she was standing at the front door. The house was quiet, no sounds coming from inside. For a moment, she considered turning around, running back to the car, and asking her father to do this for her. But she knew she couldn't. This was her mess, and she had to clean it up. She raised her hand, her finger hovering over the doorbell. Her heart was racing now, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. What if he's not here? What if he's gone? The thought was almost too much to bear. She closed her eyes, took one last deep breath, and pressed the doorbell. The sound echoed through the house, sharp and final.