How to be loved

45 - Enough!

How to be loved

45 – Enough!

Freen's POV

"Mom!" Becky's voice cracked, disbelief and anguish lacing every word. "How could you—"

I barely heard Becky's protest. I was too stunned by the audacity of the question, the sheer cruelty of it. My heart pounded in my chest, the blood rushing in my ears. I fought to keep my composure, refusing to let her see how deeply her words had cut. The silence that followed was suffocating, with all eyes on me—waiting, expecting.

Becky's father shifted in his seat, his discomfort evident but silent. Richie sat frozen, wide-eyed in shock, the weight of the moment bearing down on him. Becky's face was a mix of fury and humiliation, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. It was as if her very soul had been laid bare for the world to scrutinize, and it broke my heart to see her like this.

And then there was Mrs. Armstrong, sitting at her side of the table of the table like a queen surveying her subjects. Her gaze was cold, her expression unfeeling, as if she derived some twisted satisfaction from the chaos she'd just unleashed. She watched me, waiting for my reaction, as though testing my worth, my resolve.

For a moment, time slowed, the world around me becoming a blur. I felt the weight of her disdain, the judgment in her eyes. Then, like a jolt, Becky's voice shattered the silence.

"Mom, I don't get you," Becky said, her voice trembling but defiant. "I've had girlfriends before, but you never cared about them. Why are you doing this now?" She paused, her voice raw with emotion. "You may not love me, but please, don't hurt the person I love."

Her words hung in the air, fragile and desperate, but it only seemed to fuel her mother's anger. Mrs. Armstrong's hand slammed down on the table with a deafening crack, the sharp sound causing the silverware to rattle.

"None of them," she spat, venom dripping from each word, "brought this kind of scandal to the family name. None of them made your mistake of an existence more unbearable."

Becky flinched, and my grip on her hand tightened beneath the table, trying to offer her some semblance of comfort in the face of such cruelty. But Mrs. Armstrong wasn't done. She leaned forward, her fury radiating off her like heat.

"And of course I don't love you," she continued, her voice cold. "Why would I? You've been a stain on this family from the moment you were born." Her gaze flicked to me, her lip curling into a sneer. "And I certainly don't care if I hurt your so-called girlfriend."

The contempt in her voice was suffocating, and it took every ounce of self-control not to rise from my seat, not to confront her head-on. But I stayed where I was, jaw clenched, heart breaking for Becky. I could feel her trembling beside me, holding onto me as if I was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Becky's voice was small and broken when she spoke again. "Scandal? It's not a scandal... I was just kissing Freen—my girlfriend."

"It is a scandal!" Mrs. Armstrong shouted, her voice rising with anger. "Once again, you've made a fool of us. Being taken in by some gold-digging nobody."

I bristled at her words, but Becky's hand on mine kept me grounded.

"She is no one!" Mrs. Armstrong continued, her voice dripping with disdain. "Jane was at least wealthy, and Friend was like a harmless puppy. But this one—" She pointed at me, eyes flashing. "This one is as poor as a church mouse, and you've plastered her face all over the internet with those disgraceful pictures."

"It's not her fault!" Becky protested, standing up from her seat. "Not our fault!"

"I don't care!" Her mother's voice rose to a fever pitch, filled with venom. "I didn't endure your existence just to have you drag us into humiliation again! Your father should never have brought you here. You... your whole existence is a mistake!"