The separation

VIOLET

"Are you all set?” Mom asked, breaking the heavy silence in the car.

I nodded, clutching my copy of Wuthering Heights tightly to my chest. The leather seat beneath me was cold, and the faint hum of the car engine did little to drown out the pounding in my chest. The world outside blurred into streaks of gray as we sped along the highway, heading farther and farther away from everything I knew.

Turns out, Max wasn’t joking last night

The memory of the fight played on a loop in my mind. It had started as heated words between Ryan and Max, but it didn’t take long for those words to spiral into something far more dangerous, voices rose, accusations and for a moment, I thought the house might collapse under the sheer force of their anger.

And now, here I was—packed and ready to leave. Max had made it clear that this was the solution to the “problem” I’d created. I was being sent to my aunt’s place in Boston, a city far enough from New York to feel like a completely different world.
The weight of it all pressed down on me as I stared out the window. Trees and streetlights passed in a blur, but my thoughts stayed locked on the house I’d left behind. On Ryan.

“You’ll like Boston,” Mom said, her tone forced, like she was trying to convince herself as much as me. “Your aunt has a nice place, and the city is... charming.”

I didn’t respond. My throat was tight, and I wasn’t sure if I could get any words out without breaking.

“Violet,” she pressed, her voice softer now. “This is for the best. You’ll see that in time.”

I turned to her, her face unreadable as she gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. “The best for who?” I asked quietly.

She sighed, her lips thinning into a line. “For everyone.”

The finality in her tone stung. There was no room for argument, no room for me to explain how wrong this felt.

Not like talking would change my mom's mind anyway. As much as I knew she wanted me and Ryan apart, moving me to Boston wasn’t what she wanted. But she wouldn’t defy Max. After all, he’s her husband, and I’m just… her daughter.

That thought cut deeper than I wanted to admit, but it was true. Mom had always been the kind of person who sought balance—harmony, even if it meant sacrificing what mattered most. I could see it in her eyes last night, the flicker of guilt and hesitation when Max made his decision. She didn’t agree with it, but she wouldn’t stand up to him either.

And Ryan… God, Ryan.

I closed my eyes, the memory of his face last night flashing vividly in my mind. The rage, the defiance, the raw desperation in his voice as he argued with Max. He didn’t care about the rules or the labels society slapped on us. All he cared about was that we were being ripped apart, and he wasn’t having it.

“I’ll fix this, Violet. I'm coming for you”

His words played in my head like an endless loop, holding a promise I'm not sure he could keep.

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

But even as he said those words, I could see the storm brewing in him. The frustration, the helplessness, the weight of trying to fight a battle that felt impossible to win. It wasn’t just Max he was up against—it was everything. The world, the expectations, the twisted idea that what we felt for each other was wrong.

He swore he wouldn’t let them take me away.

And yet, here I was.

I leaned my head against the window, letting the cool glass ground me as the car continued its journey.

The book in my lap felt heavier than ever as I opened it, staring at the words on the page without really seeing them.

“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same”

I closed the book with a snap, the words cutting too close to the ache in my chest.

I pulled my phone from my bag, my fingers hesitating over the screen for a moment. I checked for any messages from Ashley. Nothing.

I had texted her about the new development this morning and there's no response yet. She probably wasn’t awake yet. I let out a breath. It was the kind of exhale that felt like it was trying to push out all the thoughts crowding my head.

I scrolled through my contacts, my finger hovering over Ryan's name. For a moment, I considered sending him a text—maybe just one word, something simple, to let him know I was thinking about him. But before I could decide, my phone buzzed in my hand. The screen lit up, and there it was—Ryan’s message.

“Two weeks, Mouse. Give me two weeks. I’ll get you out of there, away from them all. I’m so sorry I couldn’t fix this. I’m sorry things had to be this way. I love you…I really do.”

The words hit me like a freight train. I froze, blinking rapidly, as if trying to wake myself from some kind of dream. Those words—I love you—were the ones I had been waiting for, wanting to hear for so long. They were more than just a confession of attraction, more than just “I'm attracted to you”.

This was it. He loved me. And even though I had hoped for it, even though I had wanted it, hearing it now felt like a punch to the gut, a mixture of relief and heartbreak.

My heart raced, and for a moment, I forgot where I was, forgot that my world was collapsing around me. All I could think about was Ryan, the way he felt, the weight of those words in my hands. I wanted to scream, laugh, cry, all at once. Maybe if circumstances were different—maybe if I wasn’t on my way to Boston, maybe if everything wasn’t falling apart—I'd have squealed with joy, embraced the moment. But now, it felt like everything had stopped just as quickly as it had started.

I stared at the message, my mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We weren’t supposed to be torn apart by forces we couldn’t control. And yet here I was, hundreds of miles away from him, with nothing but this screen between us.

I bit my lip, my fingers trembling as they hovered over the keyboard. I wanted to respond, to tell him everything that was on my mind. I wanted to pour out all the feelings I had been hiding for so long. But the words wouldn’t come. I didn’t know how to tell him that, yes, I loved him too. I loved him more than I could ever put into words. I didn’t know how to tell him how much it hurt to be this far from him, how much it hurt to be in this situation at all.

Instead, I started typing.

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but I really don’t want this. I hate this. Come get me, quick. I love you more.”

My finger hovered over the send button, but it froze midway.. I wasn’t sure if it was fear or doubt, or maybe just the reality of everything. So, I deleted the message. I couldn’t do it—not yet, at least. Not when everything was so messy.

Instead, I settled for something simpler, something safer. I typed out, “Alright. Can’t wait.”

With a deep breath, I hit send.

It's much better this way. I let out a deep breath I hadn't even realize I was holding.

Boston loomed closer with every passing mile, but it didn’t feel like a fresh start. It felt like the end.