002

Isabelle

I stood in front of the mirror and all I could do was smile.

This was new.

My father instructing me to get dressed, with even a new dress he had bought?

“If you don't like it,” I heard his loud voice from my room. “You don't have to wear it, okay.”

I beamed, tugging nervously at the hem of the silk burgundy gown, smoothing invisible wrinkles while my fingers trembled slightly.

“Isabelle,”

I heard his voice again, echoing up the stairs in excitement. “Come down for a moment.”

My face lit up. He only sounded like that when something big was about to happen or was coming.

I took one last look at myself, brushed my hair over my shoulders, and stepped out of the room.

When I reached the living room, my father stood near the couch, his hands clasped behind his back like he was hiding something.

He looked ...nervous.

Nervous but at the same time, happy.

I tilted my head, my eyebrows knitting together, silently asking “What is it?”

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was going to wait until dinner,” he said, “but I don't think I can.”

I swallowed.

“I…” he exhaled, then straightened, clearing his throat. “I proposed today.’”

I stood still and the world seemed to stop as I heard those words.

Proposed?

To whom? How? When did the relationship begin?

I had so many questions running in my head.

My hands lifted instinctively, my fingers moving in quick, frantic gestures as I asked him to explain. He smiled wider, mistaking my shock for excitement.

Maybe, I was.

“She said yes,” he continued. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

I stared down at my clothes and as if he understood the gesture, he quickly nodded.

“Yes. That was the reason for the new dress.” He mumbled.

I didn't know why I felt that way. Confused, sad, nervous. I didn't expect a new wife from my father, or maybe I once did. I once did because I hated how he wasn't social to anyone. He wouldn't go to work, just living on the savings. He would just sit at home, sleep, wake-up and buy takeout food.

I noticed the difference five months ago. I noticed that he started going out more, but I didn't think it was going to be a woman's cause.

Before I could process it, the doorbell rang and I quickly looked at the door.

My father’s face lit up. “That must be them.”

‘Them?’

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I shook my head, my hands moving faster now, panic settling in me. But he was already heading toward the door.

“I’ll get it,” he said cheerfully.

I moved on instinct, stepping in front of him. I didn’t know why, only that something felt horribly wrong. He paused, surprised.

“Isabelle?”

Another ring of the doorbell.

I turned and walked toward it myself with my heavy legs.

I inhaled and exhaled before opening the door and as I peeped outside to check who they were— my breath caught.

Because the face staring back at me was the last one I ever wanted to see.

Lucas Graham.

He stood there in his usual careless slouch, tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair falling messily into his eyes. His mouth was twisted into a lazy smirk, one I had seen far too many times in school hallways with mockery.

The boy who made my life hell, who mimicked my inability to speak and made sure everyone knew me..

And he was standing at my front door.

Before I could react, my voice gave way out of anger.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I shouted.

The words came out of my mouth, forced and loud. The world seemed to freeze.

Lucas’s eyes widened, his smirk vanishing instantly. He stared at me like he was seeing a ghost.

“Isabelle? What the—” he started, then stopped. “You… you just….”

That was the moment I realized what I had done. I had spoken!

My hands flew to my mouth, my breath coming in short, erratic gasps. I tried to speak again, to say anything, but

there was nothing.

No sound coming out of my mouth.

Lucas stared at me, confusion etched into his face. “You're…you're mute,”. He said slowly. “Everyone knows that.”

My chest burned.

Before humiliation could swallow me whole, my father appeared behind me.

“Isabelle, what’s going on?” he asked.

Lucas turned, “Remind me why I am here again ?” He asked, a smirk returning at his lips.

My father's expression held nothing but shock and a little warmth, trying to disregard his manner of approach.

“Lucas, right?”

Lucas nodded stiffly.

“Come in,” my father said, stepping aside. “You must be tired from the drive.”

Drive?

I turned my head toward my father, my hands shaking as I demanded answers, but he didn’t notice, or chose not to.

A woman stepped forward then, elegant and unfamiliar, her smile warm.

“This must be Isabelle,” she said softly. “I’m Lily.”

My vision blurred. What the hell is going on here?

Lucas glanced between me and my father, his jaw tightening. “Mom, what is going on?”

My father placed a hand on Lily’s back. “I was just about to explain,” he said gently. “We are getting married.”

My eyes widened in shock.

Married?

To her?

My hands flew up, gestures frantic as my face burned with disbelief and rage. I shook my head violently, stepping backward as if distance alone could undo what I’d just heard.

Lucas let out a harsh laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

My father frowned. “Lucas…”

“No,” Lucas snapped. “No way. A marriage cannot hold. I will not allow that.” He barked, ignoring his mother's tap. You can’t seriously expect me to live with her.” He pointed at me, disgust dripping from his voice. “The freak who doesn’t talk.”

Something inside me shattered and I tried to scream, but my voice betrayed me again, silence wrapping tightly around my throat.

Tears gathered in my eyes, blurring everything. I shook my head, hands trembling as I tried to tell my father the truth.

He didn't see it. He was too busy trying to keep the peace.

“Lucas,” Lily warned softly.

Lucas scoffed. “What? You expect me to pretend this is normal?”

That was it.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't stay.

So, I turned and ran.

I bolted past them, up the stairs, my vision clouded with tears. I grabbed my jacket from the banister and fled out the back door, cold air slamming into my face as I sprinted down the street.

Not until my body gave out.

I collapsed near the old oak tree at the end of the block, sobs ripping through me silently.

My hands shook violently as I pressed them against my mouth, trying to contain the sounds I couldn’t make.

Footsteps approached.

“Isabelle!” my father called, breathless. “Isabelle, wait!”

He reached me moments later, kneeling in front of me, concern etched deep into his face. “What’s going on?” he asked softly. “Why did you run?”

I looked at him, tears streaming freely now.

I grabbed my notepad, tears blurring the page as I wrote. “He’s my bully…the one from college.”