Chapter 5: The Breaking Point

Ten Years Later

The next day at noon, I woke up to the sound of things breaking.

Jason was in a violent rage.

I heard glass shattering, the crash of furniture—an animal panic. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, body shaking.

He smashed my phone, broke the TV on the wall, flipped the tables and chairs.

The sound of destruction filled the house. I cowered in bed, too weak to move, heart hammering in my chest.

When he saw me awake, he walked over, holding a mirror in his hand.

He shoved it in my face, his expression twisted. I caught my own reflection—wild hair, red marks everywhere, a stranger.

The mirror showed my reflection.

At the time, I hadn’t even had time to get dressed. My body was covered in red marks and bruises.

He pointed at me in the mirror, his eyes full of undisguised disgust.

His voice was raw, but his hands trembled, and for a split second, I thought I saw something like fear behind his anger. "You’re so dirty. So gross."

His words sliced deeper than any wound. I shrank back, wishing I could disappear.

"I hate you."

Each syllable landed heavy, a weight I couldn’t shake.

"I don’t want to see you again."

He turned away, leaving the room in shambles and my spirit shattered.

That day, my body was a mess. I could barely walk.

Every step hurt—a physical reminder of the night before. I dressed slowly, wincing with every movement.

But when Jason had an episode, he disappeared.

He was gone—no note, no explanation, just vanished into the city.

I had no choice but to go out and look for him.

I pulled on sneakers, grabbed my coat, and stepped into the chilly afternoon, desperation fueling every step.

I didn’t even have time to eat, searching from noon to midnight.

I called hospitals, checked bus stations, wandered the city streets, eyes searching every crowd. My stomach growled, but I kept moving.

I went to almost every place he usually went, my legs shaking by the end.

Coffee shops, music stores, the park by the river. Each place was a dead end.

But I still didn’t find him.

The city felt endless—every shadow a question mark. By midnight, my feet throbbed and my hope was fading.

When I was catching my breath at the front porch in despair, at 1 a.m., Jason finally came back.

The porch light buzzed overhead. I was huddled on the step, half-asleep, when I heard footsteps on the gravel.

There was a girl standing next to him.

She was fresh-faced, her hair in a messy ponytail, laughter still clinging to her voice. She wore a hoodie and carried a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.

She had a dimple when she smiled, really sweet.

Her smile was easy, infectious—the kind of warmth you feel even on a cold night.

The girl looked up at him. “It’s the first time I’ve met someone who thinks so much like me.”

She grinned, eyes shining, as if they shared a secret language.

“Meeting you was the best thing that happened at this concert.”

They swapped stories about bands and setlists, lost in their own little world. I watched from the shadows, invisible as ever.

That’s when I found out Jason had gone alone to a concert.

It was something he’d never do with me. The realization stung—he’d chosen her for this piece of his life.

His phone was dead, and he couldn’t remember the way home; it was the girl who brought him back.

She punched the address into her phone, guiding him through the city, her laughter echoing in the empty streets. She didn’t seem bothered by his quirks—in fact, she seemed to understand them.

Jason walked slowly; even though the way home was short, he took a long time.

They wandered, talking in circles, the world shrinking down to the two of them.

They chatted about music, about composers and performers I’d never heard of.

I caught fragments of their conversation—references I couldn’t follow, laughter that felt like a closed door.

Jason had loved music since he was a kid.

He taught himself piano at six, played guitar by ear, filled journals with song lyrics he never shared with me.

He studied under a well-known teacher, and after graduation opened a studio, composing a bunch of famous pieces.

His talent was real—he even had a Grammy nomination, though he never let it change him. Music was his only real escape.

I just stood quietly at the door, listening.

I pressed my hand to the glass, watching them in the glow of the hallway light. My own reflection stared back, tired and older than my years.

They talked for thirty minutes, but Jason never noticed I was there.

It was like I was invisible, a ghost haunting my own home.

I tried to remind myself this wasn’t betrayal, but it felt like watching someone else live the life I’d been promised.

It was the butler who finally couldn’t take it and spoke up.

Mr. Reynolds cleared his throat, his voice gentle. "Young man, it’s really late, you should get some sleep."

He nodded at me, a silent apology in his eyes.

"Ma’am’s been waiting for you."

He glanced my way, making sure I wasn’t forgotten completely.

The girl looked over when she heard this, paused, and asked Jason, “Is this your wife?”

She studied me for a moment, curiosity flickering across her face.

An awkward look crossed Jason’s face. He was silent for a moment, then nodded.

He shifted his weight, looking down at his shoes, voice small.

Then he immediately added, “Forced.”

He winced, as if saying the word tasted bitter.

"Don’t like her."

He looked up, eyes hard, making sure the message landed.

"Really hate her."

The final blow. I felt my cheeks burn, tears stinging my eyes, but I forced myself to stand still.

At that moment, I stood frozen in place.

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the sound of my own heartbeat. I wanted to run, but my feet wouldn’t move.

A wave of shame swept over me, making me want to disappear.

The girl’s name was Sarah Miller.

Sarah. Even her name sounded friendly, the kind of girl everyone liked.

Sarah tugged at his sleeve, her eyes crinkling in a smile.

She drew him away, her voice soft, promising more laughter tomorrow.

“It’s late, let’s meet up again soon.”

She waved, then left, her presence lingering in the air long after she was gone.

From that day on, my relationship with Jason dropped to absolute zero again.

He retreated even further, every wall back up. I might as well have been furniture.

He wouldn’t say a word to me.

I tried to start conversations, but he answered in grunts or not at all.

On his birthday, I gave him a new pair of over-ear headphones.

I saved for months, skipping coffee runs and buying off-brand cereal, just to get the model he wanted.

I’d heard the sound quality was amazing, and they’d sold out a bunch of times; I pre-ordered them six months ahead.

I wrapped them in silver paper, tucked a note inside, hoping he’d see the effort.

But Jason just took a lighter and burned the headphones to pieces right in front of me.

He stared at me the whole time, daring me to say something. I watched the plastic warp and melt, the smell sharp in the air. I felt the heat of the flames on my cheeks, the smell of melting plastic sharp as the humiliation burning inside me.

"Don’t like you."

His voice was flat, final.

"Don’t like what you give me either."

He shoved the box toward me, eyes cold.

"Junk. I don’t want it."

The words clanged in my chest, each syllable a fresh bruise.

That year, he spent his birthday out with Sarah Miller.

They went to a jazz club downtown—he hated crowds, but not with her. I waited up, the house silent and empty.

After that, he and Sarah kept in touch.

I saw her name pop up on his phone, heard her laugh on the speaker as he practiced guitar in the living room.

A while ago, Sarah even started interning at his studio.

She fit in instantly, chatting with his friends, bringing donuts for the staff. Even his producer liked her.

When he came home at night, he was wearing a silver ring.

A simple band, but he twisted it constantly—his thumb brushing the smooth metal as he thought.

It was a birthday gift from Sarah.

She gave it to him after a late-night recording session. He wore it every day.

Looking at the broken headphones scattered across the floor, a deep exhaustion settled in my bones.

I sat on the floor, sweeping up the pieces, numb to the pain. For the first time, I let myself wonder what would happen if I walked away.