Chapter 5: Dinner Table Tensions

In the evening, I went downstairs to eat.

The kitchen was filled with the smell of cornbread and simmering soup. I shuffled to the table, still moving slow from the fever.

Rachel was still at the Miller house and hadn't left.

Her suitcase sat by the door, her shoes neatly lined up next to Ethan’s. She looked at home, and I realized she probably was—at least in Ethan’s eyes.

She sat beside Ethan as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Their elbows nearly touched, Rachel's laughter ringing a little too loud. She looked up at Ethan as if waiting for his approval with every word.

She was no longer as uneasy as on her first day here.

The shy girl had been replaced by someone more sure of her place. She didn’t glance over her shoulder anymore.

I chose a seat farther away from the two of them and quietly lowered my head to eat my soup.

The seat at the far end of the table was always a little colder, but I preferred the distance. I picked at my crackers, pretending not to hear their conversation.

Ethan noticed, glanced at me for two seconds, but said nothing.

His gaze lingered just long enough for me to feel it, but he turned away before I could meet his eyes.

Rachel greeted me as if nothing had happened, her round eyes full of apparent sincerity.

She tilted her head, flashing a smile that was just a shade too bright. There was an edge to her sweetness that set my teeth on edge.

She asked with concern,

"Maddie, are you feeling better? Let me feel your forehead, just to check if you still have a fever, okay?"

Her hand hovered in the air, and I fought the urge to flinch. The last thing I wanted was another scene.

When she reached out, I tried my best not to flinch.

I forced myself to stay still, letting her palm brush my forehead. She was gentle, but the gesture felt more like a performance than a kindness.

After this rain, I finally understood Rachel's place in Ethan's heart.

It was painfully clear—he’d chosen her, whether he realized it or not. I was just a guest in a story where she’d become the main character.

Making Rachel angry was the same as making Ethan angry.

The lesson was branded into my bones. Whatever she wanted, he would back her up, no matter how small the slight.

Ever since that night, I found myself saying yes to everything—like I was allergic to trouble.

My will had been washed away, leaving only the urge to keep the peace. I nodded at whatever Rachel said, eager to avoid another confrontation.

Rachel sat back and nodded.

She flashed Ethan a look of satisfaction before returning to her soup.

"All right, no more fever."

She propped her chin in her hand, looking downcast.

Her theatrics continued—lowered eyes, a pout on her lips. She wanted the room to see her suffering.

"Maddie, I'm really sorry. I know you got what was coming, Maddie, but honestly? It still hurts. I don’t know if I can just let it go."

Her words were knives disguised as apologies. I clenched my spoon, focusing on the swirl of noodles in my bowl. My stomach twisted in knots.

I gripped my spoon nervously and looked at Ethan.

His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t correct her. That hurt more than I expected.

What does not forgiving mean?

I couldn't help but wonder—was this a threat, or just another reminder of my place?

Will I be left out in the rain again?

My mind flashed to the storm, the cold, the locked door. The fear crawled up my spine.

I'm still not fully recovered, with no strength to resist.

The fever had left me weak. My voice felt too small to protest, so I just kept my head down.

Mrs. Carter brought more dishes to the table, acting casual.

She set down a platter of green beans, pretending not to notice the tension. Her voice was light, but her eyes darted between me and Rachel, silently urging me to keep my cool.

"Then when Maddie is better in a few days, let her get rained on again. She's too weak now, she might just die outside."

She shot Ethan a pointed look, making her meaning clear. The room went silent.

Ethan didn't even look up.

He kept his gaze on his plate, stabbing at a piece of chicken. His jaw was tight, but he said nothing.

"No one's making her stand in the rain again."

His voice was flat, almost bored, as if the whole thing was an inconvenience. I couldn’t tell if he was defending me or just tired of the conversation.

Rachel's smile stiffened. "Right, right... I didn't say anything, Mrs. Carter. Do you have a problem with me?"

She bristled, her eyes narrowing just a bit. I could feel the air in the room turn colder.

Mrs. Carter was targeted just for speaking up for me.

She pursed her lips, looking down at her apron. No one should have to walk on eggshells in their own kitchen.

I hurried to defend her, but choked on a mouthful of soup and started coughing.

I tried to speak up, but the soup went down the wrong pipe. My coughs echoed in the quiet room, drawing all eyes to me.

Mrs. Carter said, "I'll get you some water."

She bustled to the sink, filling a glass as quickly as she could.

The next moment, a slender hand set a glass of water in front of me.

Ethan moved faster, his hand steady as he slid the glass toward me.

Ethan patted my head, his voice still cold.

He reached out—a gesture that once would have comforted me. Now, it felt unfamiliar.

"Why panic? It's over. Could I really make you stand out in the rain again? Do you think I'm that cold-blooded?"

His words were meant to reassure, but instead, they stung. I wasn’t sure I believed him anymore.

But after just one night, I was no longer used to his gentle touch.

The distance between us was a chasm I couldn’t cross. I ducked away from his hand, preferring the awkwardness to the memory of kindness turned cruel.

I avoided his hand by going to get the water myself.

I grabbed the glass, gulping down the cool liquid. The room was so quiet, every swallow seemed amplified.

Ethan didn't seem to notice and just asked,

"Finished eating?"

He tapped his fork against his plate, eyes drifting to the clock on the wall.

I nodded.

I set my bowl aside, hoping to disappear before anything else could happen.

He raised his eyebrows and bent down, as if to pick me up in his arms.

He stood up, rolling his shoulders as if gearing up for a challenge. The look in his eyes was stubborn—he wasn't going to let this go.

I shrank back, confused.

My heart raced. I didn’t know what he was thinking—why he was trying so hard now.

"What are you doing?"

My voice shook, barely above a whisper.

"Carrying you back to your room."

He spoke matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I pressed his arm, quickly standing up.

I scrambled to my feet, desperate to put some space between us. My hands shook as I grabbed for the chair.

"No, no, I can walk by myself."

I forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow, even to me.

Ethan grew impatient and clicked his tongue, scooping me up before I could protest.

In one swift motion, he lifted me off my feet. This wasn’t a rom-com lift. It was a power move, and I hated how small it made me feel. The room spun, and I felt small, powerless.

"You're still sick, can you stop fussing?"

His tone was equal parts exasperated and protective. I didn’t know which hurt more.

Over his shoulder, I saw Rachel biting her lip, glaring at me.

Her eyes flashed with something sharp—envy, maybe, or something darker. The tension in the room crackled like static.

I stiffened, feeling uncomfortable.

I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

I couldn't understand why Ethan was doing this.

Nothing made sense anymore. The boy who had once been my refuge was now the storm I had to weather.