[Maddie’s POV]
The morning comes too quickly. I wake up nauseous, my stomach staging a revolt. Today I tell my parents I'm gay and in love with my roommate, which feels like voluntarily signing up for emotional vivisection.
Emily's already awake, pretending to work while actually watching me pretend to sleep. We're both excellent at pretending. "You need to eat something," she says. "Breakfast. Real food, not anxiety and regret."
"I'm not hungry. My stomach is currently staging a protest with signs and everything." I wave her off dismissively. She can’t have that.
"Maddie." She sits on my bed, taking my hand. "You need to eat. You can't do this on an empty stomach."
She makes me toast with peanut butter that tastes like cardboard, but I eat it anyway because she's watching with determination. Every bite feels like swallowing concrete.
"Do you want me nearby?" Emily asks carefully. "When they arrive? I can wait at the library or the coffee shop, somewhere close."
"Yes." The word comes out too fast, too desperate. "Please. The coffee shop on Third Street, maybe?"
She squeezes my hand. "I'll be there. The whole time. Just text me when you're done or if you need me sooner."
At 10:47 AM, I'm pacing the dorm lobby like a caged animal. My parents' car pulls up at exactly 11:00 because punctuality is my father's religion, more sacred than the actual religion he'll probably weaponize against me in approximately thirty minutes. I watch through the glass doors as they get out.
Mom spots me and waves, completely unaware of the bomb I'm about to detonate. She pulls me into a hug that smells like home and every lie I've ever told is wrapped in fabric softener.
"Sweetheart!" She studies my face with maternal x-ray vision. "Are you okay? You sounded strange on the phone. Is everything alright with school?"
"I'm fine, Mom. We just need to talk." My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "Somewhere private. Can we go somewhere else?"
Dad's watching me with concern. "Madison, what's going on? You're worrying your mother."
"There's a park nearby. Quiet. We can talk there." The drive takes seven minutes, which feels like seven hours. Mom makes small talk about their trip, about the weather, about nothing while Dad drives in silence. I stare out the window rehearsing words that keep rearranging themselves into panic.
The park is nearly empty—just joggers and someone walking a dog that looks unimpressed with existence. We find a picnic table, and I sit across from my parents like we're negotiating a hostage situation.
"Alright, Madison." Dad folds his hands on the table. "What's this about? Why all the secrecy?"
My hands are shaking so badly I press them flat against the wood. I've rehearsed this conversation seven hundred times. Now every line has evacuated my brain like rats abandoning ship.
"Remember at lunch when you asked about the rumors?" The words rush out like I'm ripping off a bandage or jumping off a cliff or any other metaphor for doing something irreversible. "About me and Emily?"
Mom's face does something complicated—understanding and dread mixing together in real-time like a chemistry experiment nobody wanted to conduct. Dad's expression hardens, jaw setting in that way that means he's preparing for disappointment. "I lied. The rumors are true. Emily and I are together. I'm in love with her."
The silence that follows is deafening. It has weight and texture, pressing against my eardrums like I'm underwater. Mom's eyes fill with tears she doesn't let fall, her hand flying to her mouth.
Dad's face goes through several emotions in rapid succession—shock, confusion, then settling on anger that makes my stomach drop through several floors.
"You're confused." His voice is tight, controlled like he's reining in something volatile. "This is because of the trauma, the bullying you went through. You're just—"
"I'm not confused." I cut him off, my voice sharper than intended but softer than I feel. "I'm gay, Dad. I've known for years. I've been lying to you, to myself, to everyone. But I can't anymore. I can't keep pretending to be someone I'm not just because it's easier for everyone else."
"Years?" Mom's voice breaks on the word like glass shattering. "You've known for years and never told us? All this time, you've been lying?"
"I was scared." My throat is closing up, making words harder to form. "I was terrified of this exact moment, of seeing your faces, of knowing that everything would change and I'd be responsible for breaking us."
Dad makes a dismissive sound, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "This is that girl's influence. She's confused you, made you think you're something you're not. This isn't real, Madison. It can't be."
"Emily didn't make me anything!" My voice rises, all the frustration and fear pouring out in words I can't take back. "I fell in love with her because I'm gay. I've always been gay. She didn't confuse me or influence me or make me choose this. I didn't choose any of it. Nobody would choose this."
Dad stands up abruptly, the bench scraping against the ground like nails on a chalkboard or my identity under scrutiny. He starts pacing, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "This is a sin. You know this. We raised you in the church, we taught you right from wrong, we gave you values—"
"You taught me that God loves everyone." I'm on my feet now too, facing him across the table like we're in a courtroom instead of a park. "That's what I learned. That's what I took from church. Not the judgment, not the hate. The love. You taught me about love."
"Not this." His voice is hard, final, like a judge delivering a verdict. "Not this choice. This lifestyle is against everything we believe, everything we've taught you, everything we stand for."
"It's not a choice!" The words rip out of me. "Do you think I would choose this? Do you think I would choose to be terrified every day, to lie to everyone I love, to hide who I am if I had a choice?"
Mom is crying openly now. "I don't understand, Madison. You dated Derek. You seemed happy with him."
"I was faking it. All of it." My voice cracks. "I've been faking being straight since I was fourteen years old. Every date, every kiss, every relationship—all of it was a performance."
"I won't accept this." Dad's voice cuts through the air, steel and hurt, and, most importantly, disappointment. It makes me sick. "I won't support this lifestyle."
The words hit like a slap. "What does that mean?"
"It means you need to think very carefully about what you're choosing." His expression is stone. "Your skating career, your education, your future—we've sacrificed everything for you. Everything."
The threat is crystal clear. And I’m taunting back, partially because I need clarification and can’t believe this is happening, partially because what the fuck. My voice trembles when I ask. "Are you saying if I'm with Emily, you'll cut me off?"
"I'm saying you need to decide what's more important—your family and your future, or this... relationship."
"David, don't—" Mom reaches for his arm in a desperate attempt to damage control. It won’t work, I know that much, it almost never works. He never listens to her.
He pulls away. "I need time to think. We both do."
He starts walking toward the car. Mom lingers, tears still falling. "I love you," she says, voice breaking. "But your father... he's very set in his beliefs. I don't know if I can change his mind."
"Do you want to change his mind?" The question comes out hollow. "Or do you agree with him?"
She doesn't answer. She just whispers, "I'm sorry," before following my father. I sit alone at the picnic table, watching them drive away. Numb. The park is still beautiful, the sun still shining. The world hasn't ended even though mine just did.
My hands shake as I pull out my phone. My fingers fumble twice before I type: "It's done. It went badly. Can you come get me?"