Desperate turn

ELLA 'S POV

The silence that draped itself over Thompson’s Brew after Grandma’s sharp slap felt like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Her words, “My granddaughter isn’t for sale,” lingered in the air with a raw, bitter edge that seemed to cling to the walls.

The café’s cozy warmth, infused with the deep, earthy scent of roasted coffee beans and the delicate sweetness of pastries cooling on a tray near the window, did little to soften the tension that morning. The wooden tables, their surfaces polished to a soft sheen by years of hands brushing against them, stood as silent witnesses, their dark grain catching the faint, gray light filtering through the rain-streaked windows.

I remained seated, my fingers wrapped tightly around a cold ceramic cup. The chill seeped into my palms, sending a shiver up my arms, while Ethan touched his reddened cheek. His gray-blue eyes were clouded with a mix of humiliation and stubborn resolve. Without a word, he scooped up his briefcase, the leather creaking softly as he moved. The rustle of papers inside whispered a quiet surrender. He slipped out the door, and the soft click as it closed echoed through the stillness.

The weight of that moment pressed down on me as I pushed myself to my feet, my legs wobbling as though they might give way. I shuffled toward the cluttered table to gather the scattered remnants of our confrontation.

Lucy, my best friend since that long-ago tea spill during her first shift at the café, stepped beside me without hesitation. Her colorful scarf — a vivid swirl of red and yellow — brushed her shoulder as she reached for the cups. Her dark eyes locked with mine in a shared, unspoken understanding.

“Come on, Ella,” she murmured gently, her voice carrying a hint of encouragement, “Let’s get this place back in order, You don’t have to shoulder all of this by yourself. We’re in this together, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, though the faint lines of worry creasing her forehead told me she felt the same fear I did. Together, we carried the dishes to the kitchen. The soft clink of porcelain against the sink offered a small comfort amid the storm.

Inside, Grandma stood with her back to us, her slender frame slightly hunched. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles whitening with the effort. The faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant drip of a faucet filled the space.

Lucy set the cups down and turned to her, her voice careful but earnest.

“Grandma, please, just hear me out. I know this idea of marriage is wrong, and it’s not just about money, though we can’t pretend it doesn’t matter. Our family has always stood tall, always did things the right way, but we’re drowning in debt. Debtors could show up any day now, banging on the door. We need to protect ourselves, to keep the café going.”

She hesitated, then added softly, “And Ella’s child… that baby deserves a father. Someone to give it a name and a future. This could be our way out. A chance to start over.”

Her words came slowly, each one weighed with care. Tears welled in my eyes and spilled over, tracing warm, salty paths down my cheeks. I stepped closer, my voice trembling.

“Grandma, I hate this as much as you do. I don’t want to live like this, trapped by debt and fear. But Lucy’s right. We’re sinking. I don’t see another way.”

The sobs came then, deep and shuddering, filling the kitchen with the sound of my despair. Grandma turned. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she reached for me, her voice breaking.

“I don’t want that kind of life for you, my dear. Not this burden. Not this shame that follows you like a shadow. I’ve worked so hard to see you sold off like this.”

Her hands shook as she brushed my hair back from my face, her touch tender and aching. Lucy stepped in, her tone steady and soft.

“She’ll be fine, Grandma. I promise you. I’ll stay by her side and make sure she’s okay. We’ll get through this, all of us.”

Later that evening, the conversation left me hollow. My heart ached as I retreated to my room. The soft, golden glow of the bedside lamp cast long, wavering shadows across the faded floral wallpaper. The creak of the floorboards beneath my feet echoed like a quiet lament.

My thoughts drifted towards James or maybe Michael, a friend I’d secretly crushed on for months. His gentle smile, his warmth, our conversations from university... With my marriage to Ethan looming like a storm cloud, I felt the desperate need to claim something for myself. A piece of control before it was taken away.

My fingers trembled as I typed out a message to Michael. He replied quickly, inviting me to his flat.

When I arrived, the air inside carried the musty scent of old books stacked haphazardly on shelves and the faint trace of his cedar cologne. A dim floor lamp cast soft light across his cluttered desk. We talked for a while. His voice was warm as he asked about my day, about the café.

But something inside me twisted. My breath caught. I stood slowly and removed my clothes, letting the fabric slip to the floor. I stepped toward him, a silent plea in my eyes. I wanted him to be the first man to have sex with me, I must be out of my mind, yes i know that.

Michael rose from his chair, confusion flickering across his face. Then regret. He reached for my clothes, gently pressing them back into my hands.

“Ella, wait,” he said, his voice low but steady. “ I care about you, but I’m in love with someone else , I’ve been with her for a while now. I can’t do this to her… and I can’t let you do this to yourself. I’m so sorry.”

His rejection hit like a slap. A flood of shame, of tangled, unnameable emotion, surged through me.

I fled.

My feet pounded down the stairwell. My vision blurred with tears. The night air outside was damp and cold, the city lights stretching into golden and gray streaks. I wandered blindly through Soho, driven by a reckless despair, until I found myself in a club.

The beat of the music thudded beneath my feet, pulsing like a heartbeat. The air was thick with sweat, spilled beer, and perfume. I drank and drank, the alcohol burning down my throat, numbing the pain that twisted inside me.

When the room finally began to spin, I stumbled out into the early morning. London was quiet, the streets slick with dew. Near Waterloo Bridge, I stood in the middle of the road. My bare feet met the cold asphalt. My thoughts spiraled out of control.

The world felt like too much.

Suddenly, the headlights flared, a truck was right in front of me and for a brief moment I wanted to end it all.

A horn blared.

Strong hands yanked me backward. My breath caught. I looked up through blurry eyes and saw him.

Ethan.

His voice cut through the fog of my mind, sharp and strained.

“What are you doing Ella?, Do you want to die?.”