Crossing boundaries

70.

Freen's PoV

The morning air was thick with tension. Becky and I sat on the sofa, my mother across from us, and we were in the middle of discussing my father's divorce. It was a conversation I never imagined having, but after everything that had happened, there was no turning back. Becky held my hand, her presence grounding me as we navigated this painful discussion.

Just as I was about to speak, the front door creaked open, and I immediately felt a chill run down my spine. My father's sister, brother, and my grandmother barged in, their faces twisted with anger and disapproval. They weren't invited, and they sure as hell weren't welcome.

Grandma was the first to speak, her voice dripping with contempt. "What's all this? How could you send my son to jail?"

For a moment, none of us said a word. The silence was suffocating, but it spoke volumes. Becky squeezed my hand a little tighter, silently lending me the strength I needed to face them.

My aunt, my father's sister, didn't waste any time. Her voice cut through the room like a knife. "Freen, have you lost your mind? You love a girl? How can she protect you?"

The words stung, not just because they were aimed at Becky and me, but because they were laced with ignorance and hatred. I could feel Becky stiffen beside me, offended by the blatant homophobia. I was equally enraged, my emotions bubbling up inside me like a volcano ready to erupt.

But before I could say anything, she continued, her voice rising in anger. "And how dare you get my brother thrown in jail?"

At that moment, my father's brother, my big uncle, spoke up. His tone was a mix of disbelief and disappointment. "Freen! Really, it's you? How could you do this?"

I closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath to steady myself. When I opened them, I met their judgmental gazes head-on. I was done being the quiet, obedient daughter. It was time to stand up for myself and for Becky.

"Stop the overacting, all of you," I began, my voice surprisingly steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside me. "Can't you both be happy," I pointed towards my big uncle and my father's sister, "that you don't have to share your precious property with my dad or me anymore?"

I turned to my grandmother, who was glaring at me like I was a stranger, not her own flesh and blood. "And you, Grandma, don't act like you care. You've never cared, not when he beat me, not when he beat Mom. And now you show up, pretending like you give a damn?"

I could feel my temper rising, my pulse pounding in my ears. I pulled Becky closer, not out of fear but out of defiance. "And she," I said, my voice breaking slightly as I spoke, "she's the only one who can understand me and take care of me. No one else can. So, please, stop this ridiculous drama in my home and just go away!"

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. My aunt's face twisted in anger, but she didn't say anything. My uncle looked at me with a mix of shock and disappointment, but I didn't care. They never came to help us, never intervened when my father's fists came down on us like a storm. So why now? Why pretend to care now?

Without another word, the three of them turned and left the house, slamming the door behind them. The sound echoed through the room, but I didn't flinch. I stood there, my chest heaving, trying to calm the rage and hurt that threatened to consume me.

Becky guided me back to the sofa, her touch gentle, her presence calming. I collapsed onto the cushions, my nerves frayed, my body trembling from the emotional toll of the confrontation. Becky sat beside me, her arm around my shoulders, offering comfort in the only way she knew how—by simply being there.

I leaned into her, closing my eyes, trying to shut out the echoes of their voices. It was over, for now. But I knew this was just the beginning of a long, painful journey. And the only thing that made it bearable was the fact that I wasn't alone. I had Becky, and together, we would face whatever came next.

.........