𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐈𝐋.

𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐇𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐀
𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑
𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟓

Two months had flown by in a whirlwind of stolen kisses, whispered promises, and the exhilarating rush of defying societal expectations. Marlon and I were an official item, the whispers at the Cotton Club replaced by a grudging acceptance, or at least a learned indifference. So, when Marlon suggested I accompany him to Nebraska to meet his family, a thrill shot through me.

"It feels like a real step, Marlon," I said, excitement bubbling in my voice. "Like I'm getting to know the whole you, not just the charming guy who cuts a rug at the Cotton Club."

The train journey was long and monotonous, the endless fields of Nebraska a stark contrast to the bustling city I called home. Apprehension gnawed at me as we pulled into the dusty train station, a feeling that intensified with each passing mile on the drive to their farm.

Marlon's childhood home was a weathered two-story structure, a stark reflection of the harsh landscape that surrounded it. A heavy silence hung in the air as we entered, the only sound the creaking of the floorboards under our feet.

"This is it," Marlon said, his voice tight with a mixture of emotions.

The news hit me like a physical blow. Marlon's mother was in hospice, ravaged by the effects of years of alcohol abuse. "Oh, Marlon," I whispered, placing a comforting hand on his arm. My heart ached for him, the joyful anticipation of the trip replaced by a heavy weight of empathy.

His sisters, two shy teenagers with haunted eyes, greeted me with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. Their father, a hulking man with a scowl permanently etched on his face, was a different story altogether.

Disrespect oozed from him with every word. "So, this is the city girl Marlon's been shacking up with, huh?" he drawled, his gaze lingering on me a beat too long.

"Dad," Marlon started, his jaw clenched.

The man snorted. "Relax, son. Just making conversation." But the hostility in his voice was unmistakable.

That evening, after a strained dinner, Marlon was summoned to his mother's bedside. Leaving me alone with his father and Billie, Marlon's ex-wife.

The air crackled with unspoken tension. Marlon Sr.'s gaze kept flickering back to me, making me feel like a bug on a pin. "You know, city girls like excitement, don't they?" he finally said, his voice low and suggestive. "Don't think farm life will hold their interest for long."

Billie, perched on the worn sofa like a venomous viper, chimed in. "He's right, honey. These things tend to be... fleeting."

I couldn't take it anymore. In a burst of anger that surprised even myself, I slammed my glass on the coffee table. "Fleeting?" I spat, my voice laced with icy fury. "Is that what your marriage to Marlon was, Billie? A fleeting fancy?"

Billie's face flushed crimson. "Don't you bring that up!" she shrieked.

"Maybe you should have tried putting in a little more effort then," I shot back, my voice rising. "Instead of clinging to the past like a bitter old hag!"

Marlon Sr. slammed his fist on the table, making me jump. "You watch your mouth, girl!" he roared.

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mixture of anger and hurt. But I refused to back down. "And you watch yours!" I shouted back. "You treat your daughters like they're invisible and your son like he owes you something! This whole damn house is suffocating!"

The room went silent, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. Without another word, I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the house.

The night was a blur. I found my way back to the train station, fueled by a desperate need to escape. With trembling hands, I scribbled a note for Marlon, leaving him some money for his train ticket back to New York. "Take care of yourself, Marlon," I wrote, the words blurring through my tears. "But I can't stay here."

As the train pulled away from the dusty platform, I looked back at the receding lights of the farmhouse, a silent goodbye to the life I almost had. Nebraska, the land of endless skies, now held only the bitter memory of a broken dream.

New York, with all its chaos and complexities, suddenly felt like a haven, a place where I could lick my wounds and rebuild my life, a life hopefully far away from the ghosts of Marlon's past.