Betty’s POV
The stars spread like scattered diamonds across the velvety night sky as Betty and Brent stepped outside after dinner. The crisp, cool air wrapped around them, a stark contrast to the warmth of the farmhouse. The faint scent of hay and wildflowers drifted on the breeze, but the tension between them weighed heavier than the night.
They walked in silence for a few moments, their footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path leading to her car. The quiet should have been comforting, but it only amplified the storm brewing in Betty’s chest. Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, she stopped and turned toward Brent, her voice sharper than she intended.
“Why did you tell them we’re together?”
Brent froze, then turned to lean against the porch railing. The soft light spilling from the windows illuminated his face, his frown deepening as he considered her words. “Because we are,” he said plainly. “Or at least, I thought we were.”
Betty crossed her arms, the weight of his words striking a nerve. Her laugh was bitter, a sound that didn’t belong in the quiet serenity of the farm. “We’re not, Brent. We’ve been… whatever this is. But it’s not the same.”
Brent straightened, his posture rigid as his brows furrowed. “So, what is this, then?” he asked, his voice taut with frustration. “Just fun? A distraction? Because it sure as hell means more to me than that.”
His words hit her like a punch to the gut, but she refused to let it show. Her voice wavered, betraying the turmoil inside her. “I’m still figuring things out, Brent. I don’t know what I want yet.”
“You don’t know what you want,” he repeated, his tone biting. “Or you don’t know if you want me?”
Her silence was louder than any words she could have spoken. Brent’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching hers for something—anything—that would soften the blow. But Betty couldn’t give him that, not when she didn’t have the answers he needed.
“This is about Marcus, isn’t it?” Brent’s voice dropped, low and raw. “You’re still tied to him, no matter how much he hurt you.”
Betty’s control snapped, her voice rising. “This isn’t about Marcus! It’s about me, Brent. I need space to think, to figure out who I am without being pushed into something I’m not ready for.”
Brent’s expression crumbled, hurt flashing across his face before he masked it with a veil of stoicism. He stepped back, putting more space between them. The air between them crackled with unspoken words, the rift growing with every second of silence.
“I’ve waited long enough, Betty,” he said finally, his voice heavy with resignation. “I’ve put my heart on the line for you—again and again. Now it’s your move.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the faint light of the house as he disappeared into the darkness.