Chapter 2: Rain, Rumors, and Apologies

The rain was coming down harder and harder.

By the time the sun had set, the gutters overflowed, gushing onto the sidewalk in miniature waterfalls. Every thunderclap sent a shiver up my spine. My jeans were plastered to my legs and my hair stuck in clumps around my face. Every so often, a car would drive by, headlights illuminating the mess I’d become.

I stood at the entrance of the house, completely drenched.

The porch light flickered overhead. I knocked once, twice, but the door stayed locked. My fingers numbed from the cold, I wiped my eyes and pressed the doorbell again, hoping for a miracle.

The housekeeper looked at me apologetically.

Mrs. Carter, bless her heart, peered through the window, worry written all over her face. She cracked the door just enough to be heard.

"Sorry, Maddie... If I let you in, I'll lose my job..."

Her voice wavered. She twisted her wedding band nervously, glancing back over her shoulder as if expecting Mrs. Miller to appear at any second. There was genuine regret in her eyes—a quiet plea for forgiveness, even if her hands were tied.

I wiped the rain from my face. "It's all right, Mrs. Carter. Could you just help me get my phone?"

The words felt heavy in my mouth, but I managed a small, grateful smile. If I had my phone, at least I could call for help, maybe even beg my old neighbor Mrs. Jenkins for a couch for the night.

With my phone, I could call an Uber and find shelter from the rain.

The mental image of a warm, dry backseat and the hum of a car heater was almost enough to keep me upright. I clung to that hope, shivering in the shadows of the porch.

But Mrs. Carter didn't move, only whispered again, "Sorry..."

She stepped back, guilt etched into every line of her face. I knew she had her own kids to feed—she couldn't risk it.

I paused, but didn't make things any harder for her.

Instead, I just nodded, letting her off the hook. I leaned against the cold brick, wrapping my arms tighter around myself. Sometimes, survival means learning when to let go.

It was a rainy night, close to midnight.

The clock on my phone flickered 11:54 PM. Most of the world was already curled up in bed, the kind of night when only truckers and insomniacs were awake. The rain beat a relentless rhythm on the mailbox nearby.

Other than pressing myself tightly against the wall, hoping the eaves might shield me from some of the wind and rain, I had no other option.

I huddled beneath the gutter, knees pulled tight to my chest, praying the water wouldn’t find its way into my socks. Each gust of wind cut sharper than the last, stinging my face and making my teeth chatter uncontrollably.

Ethan's purpose was achieved.

I realized then—this wasn’t about teaching me a lesson; it was about power. He needed me to hurt so he could feel in control again. The realization made my stomach twist.

I didn't know how much time had passed until my arms turned pale from the cold.

My fingers had gone numb, turning ghostly white. Every so often, I flexed them, half-afraid they’d never warm up again.

Ethan appeared at the door with Rachel.

The porch light flicked on, illuminating Ethan’s broad shoulders and Rachel’s fragile frame just behind him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, trembling beneath her rain-soaked cardigan.

The girl blinked in surprise but said nothing.

Her eyes darted to mine, then away, as if she couldn’t bear to see what she’d done—or what I’d become.

Ethan looked down at me.

He stood tall, chin lifted, casting a long shadow across the wet porch. There was a challenge in his gaze, waiting for me to break.

"So, are you still unwilling to apologize?"

His words were sharp, slicing through the rain like a blade. My pride shrank with each syllable.

If it had been two hours earlier, I would have stubbornly insisted, maybe even argued with Ethan out of resentment.

Back then, I had fire left—enough to meet Ethan’s anger with my own, to dig my heels in and fight back. Now, I was just tired, the storm outside matched only by the one inside my chest.

But if Rachel hadn't framed me in front of the entire class for stealing the fundraiser money, I wouldn't have been forced to expose her publicly.

I remembered Rachel’s trembling voice that afternoon, how she spun the story so well everyone believed her. I hated that it came to this—me, desperate to clear my name, her desperate to save hers.

Rachel couldn't handle the suspicious looks from everyone and ran out, injuring her leg.

She’d bolted from the classroom, shoulders shaking, and the next thing I knew, someone said she’d fallen on the stairs. The memory was a tangled knot of guilt and regret.

Ethan blamed me for it.

He never asked for my side. In his eyes, Rachel was the victim, and I was the villain. That hurt more than any words ever could.

At this moment, my self-esteem was crushed by my instinct to survive.

All I wanted was to get inside, to be warm again. My pride felt distant, insignificant. Survival was the only thing that mattered now.

All I knew was that I was so cold, my mind was spinning.

I could barely think. My thoughts drifted, slippery as ice, as if hypothermia was seeping into my bones.

I opened my mouth to speak, but rainwater rushed in.

A cough racked my chest, and I sputtered, tasting rain and defeat all at once.

"Sorry, Rachel."

My breath came out in shaky clouds. I could barely meet Rachel’s eyes, my voice caught somewhere between a sob and a whisper.

Dragging my heavy body, I ducked my head, like a kid caught sneaking out past curfew.

I must’ve looked pathetic, hunched over on the doormat. It wasn’t a gesture of respect—it was desperation, plain and simple.

"I shouldn't have done that."

The words fell flat, swallowed up by the storm.

Rachel hid behind Ethan. "I know you got what was coming, Maddie, but honestly? It still hurts. I don’t know if I can just let it go."

She clung to his sleeve, her eyes welling up again. Even then, she couldn’t meet my gaze. The room was thick with tension and something else—guilt, maybe, or fear.

Ethan held her hand, gently comforting her.

He squeezed her fingers, murmuring something just for her. For a moment, I saw the tenderness that made people trust him without question.

"It's all right."

His voice was a balm for Rachel, but a wall for me.

He looked at me with an indifferent expression for a long moment.

Ethan’s hand hovered in the air, then dropped to his side, as if he’d forgotten what he was going to say. His eyes lingered on me for a beat too long, unreadable. The rain muffled everything except the sound of my heart cracking.

"It's too late."

Those three words hung between us, final and unforgiving. I felt as if the ground had dropped out from under me.