KATHERINE'S POV
People often talked about a fulfilled life. If they wanted a real example, they should have looked at me. Twenty-five, fresh out of college, living in New York, and blessed with the best roommate a girl could ask for.
Two weeks post-graduation, my to-do list still felt a mile long: call my family, hunt for a job, and the big one was to figure out how to nudge John toward a proposal. For Pete sake it was taking forever!
The thought made my stomach clench. This was New York, not some backwater where arranged marriages were the norm. Even after six years in the city, the traditions of my family still tugged at me. Or rather, my family's expectations did.
"Wanna nag about my latest magic pot?"
I groaned, flipping over to grab my phone. Susan's cooking attempts were legendary, though not in a good way. "Sure," I mumbled, bracing myself for another burnt offering.
"I'm so sorry, Kath," Susan said, flashing her signature toothy grin.
I couldn't fault her; neither of us could boil water without setting off the smoke alarm. One time , Perfect.
She started wiping down the counters, then headed toward our shared room. I followed, forcing a smile.
"Spill it, girl. You're secretly plotting my demise for ruining breakfast, aren't you?" she asked.
I nodded, tossing my phone onto the bed. Inside the bathroom, I discovered a fresh hell: the water was off. Again! Our perpetually late rent payments had consequences; no water, no electricity, no peace.
We always paid, eventually! That doesn't mean he should cut our water for days and we still have to pay full. Gosh!
"Does he expect us to recycle our own bathwater now?" Susan asked.
I half-expected the building's caretaker to start pounding on the door, demanding rent, but the hallway remained quiet. Fine. Who needed water to brush their teeth, anyway?
I gave my teeth a cursory scrub, tossed the brush aside , a replacement for the growing graveyard of forgotten toiletries, and went to find Susan answering a knock at the door. Shit.
"The caretaker?" I whispered.
Susan beamed, showing a pizza box and two cans of soda. She gave a little wiggle. "We eat pizza for another two weeks and we start smelling like it," I said, but couldn't help smiling.
Hot pizza and icy soda were always a win, especially when I didn't have to foot the bill. Guilt gnawed at me; I should offer to pay my share. I will.
As we ate in comfortable silence, Susan fixed me with that look—the unspoken "Say your secret" stare.
I sighed inwardly. My stories usually bored her: ancient family practices, my longing for Romania, my sweet-but-stodgy boyfriend John who, bless his heart, dragged me to a Romanian cultural event to make me feel at home.
She already knew too much.
"I dumped Nicole yesterday," Susan smirked. I swallowed my envy, pasting on another smile. At twenty-five, the idea of casual sex terrified me, as did the thought of navigating another relationship. Meanwhile, I was stuck with John's immature behavior.
Susan, on the other hand, was a free spirit, cycling through partners like I changed my mind about takeout. If only I had her courage.
"That's your third breakup this month," I said, my mouth full of pepperoni. She shrugged, swallowed hard that she nearly choked and grinned.
"I know, right? That dude, Richie, he dumped me because he saw my cousin hug me! My cousin who's studying abroad in Thailand!"
Uh-huh. I doubted that was the whole story, but who was I to judge? It was her life. At least her family loves her. Mine had practically tried to marry me off at eighteen because some boy dared to put his arm around me. That dude hugged me!
Bucharest still had its teeth in me.
Six years, one scholarship, and Aunt Ileana's single phone call that didn't end in screaming; that was the margin between me and a gold band soldered onto my finger at eighteen.
The rest of the family had already picked out the dress.
Watching Susan, I couldn't help but remember the last time John had lost his temper. He had accused me of ignoring his calls, his eyes flashing with jealousy and rage I have never seen before. My father never laid a hand on my mother—but did that mean he didn't love her enough to be possessive?
My eyes stung. Was love always synonymous with violence, manipulation, and control? Why couldn't I be more like Susan, fearless and independent?
I have heard and seen countless women break free from abusive relationships and overbearing families, but I felt paralyzed. I want to be free, to be properly loved and not hide small bruises from John like a coward.
Before a tear could escape, Susan thrust my phone in my face. "You're getting a call from 'Maa'?" she said, her brow furrowed.
Maa?
My hand trembled as I took the phone. I couldn't ignore it. "Maa is my mom," I explained, forcing a smile.
"Yeah I know" she rolled her eyes.
Susan's gaze sharpened with concern. She had every reason to be worried, especially since my family hadn't bothered to contact me in over five years.
"Are you going to answ..." She stopped mid-sentence.
The call ended, and I was about to call back when the phone rang again. Damn it. As much as it terrified me, I had to answer.
"Hello, Maa," I said, my voice shaking.
I listened, my heart pounding in my chest. Unlike the last time she called after my escape, she wasn't screaming, she wasn't threatening me. She simply stated facts, each word laced with command and something I couldn't trace.
I didn't get a single word in before she hung up.
Really? That was it? It was all my fault? I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have been so selfish.
Silence descended. We stared at each other, Susan and I.
Shit. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I felt like a huge disappoinment. Like I was some greedy self centered person that cared little for others.
"Is your mom okay?" Susan asked, her voice soft.
I nodded, forcing a smile and moved into her open arms.
"Talk to me, Kat. Did someone die?" Susan asked, giving me a gentle squeeze.
"I'm fine, Su," I said, pulling away. I took a shaky breath and smoothed my hair.
"Mara," I began, taking Susan's hand. "My little sister is getting married in three days, and…"
For a split second, Susan's eyes glazed over with boredom, then snapped back into focus. Understanding dawned, her hands flying to her mouth. "Married? What the heck? Isn't she, like, fifteen?"
I laughed. "Mara is nineteen, and I have to be in Bucharest by Friday—three days from now," I grinned weakly.
Susan just stared, her expression making me feel like I was overreacting. But I wasn't. Mara, I knew, dreamed of a perfect life, a white picket fence, a fairy-tale romance. But not with him. Not with the same creep I had almost been forced to marry years ago.
"You don't seem too thrilled for your sister," Susan muttered, her tone slightly judgmental. "I know she is still young but what aren't you telling me?"
I hesitated. "She's marrying Samuel-Sam," I said, bracing myself for her reaction. "Yes, that Sam," I added for clarification.
Susan recoiled, stepping away from me. "The fuck?" Her eyes wide, when lips twitching in visible disgust " The Sam who raped you?" she whispered, her eyes wide with horror.
I almost laughed, but the sound caught in my throat. "He didn't rape me, Susan. He just… He just almost did," I shrugged, trying to downplay the trauma.
Feeling exposed under her intense gaze, I turned away, pretending to tidy up the already-pristine countertop. Just then, a series of loud bangs echoed from the hallway, and we both knew who it was.
"Him?" I asked as I sniffed.
No body else knocks like that but I needed to talk about something else.
"I know you TWO ARE IN THERE!!!!" He yelled from outside.
My throat choked, I really wasn't in the mood to check the door but I turned away.
"Don't worry, I'll handle him," Susan said, brushing past me to answer the caretaker at the door.