Under the Grit

Bruises

A soft hum of conversation filled the dining room, mingling with the faint clink of silverware and the rich aroma of the evening's meal still lingering in the air. The wine bottle on the table was nearly empty, its ruby-red contents now split between four glasses. Evangeline sat at the far end, her fingers loosely gripping the stem of her glass as she watched her parents laugh at something Ben had just said.

Ben leaned back in his chair, his expression easy and confident, as though the last few months hadn't happened, as though he hadn't left her life in pieces. Her father chuckled, lifting his glass in appreciation. "You've always had a knack for storytelling, Ben," he said warmly.

Her mother, seated next to him, smiled at Ben with the same fondness Evangeline remembered from their early years together. "You should write some of these stories down," her mother suggested, her tone teasing but genuine. "Maybe Evie can give you some pointers."

"I think I'll leave the writing to the professionals," Ben replied, flashing his signature easy grin, the one that always disarmed people. He glanced at Evangeline then, his dark eyes flicking over her in a way that made her stomach twist. "She's always been the talented one."

Her mother beamed at the compliment, looking to Evangeline with pride. "That's true. We're so proud of you, sweetheart. You've accomplished so much, and now you're about to graduate—how does it feel?"

Evangeline forced a smile, willing her voice to sound steady. "It feels... good," she said, though her words felt flat. "Overwhelming, but good."

Her father nodded in agreement. "As it should. You've worked hard for this."

"Too hard sometimes," Ben interjected smoothly, swirling the wine in his glass as he leaned forward slightly. "She's always burning the candle at both ends. I keep telling her to slow down, but she never listens."

Her jaw clenched at his tone, the subtle familiarity in his words making her stomach churn. She stared down at her glass, counting her breaths to steady herself. He had no right to speak as though he still knew her, as though he still belonged in this part of her life.

Her mother reached over, placing a hand on Evangeline's. "He's right, you know. You've always been so determined, but you need to take care of yourself too."

"I'll try," Evangeline murmured, her voice quieter than she intended.

Ben's gaze lingered on her, his smile faint but sharp enough to cut. "That's all anyone can ask," he said, lifting his glass in mock toast.

Evangeline's grip tightened on the stem of her glass as her thoughts spiraled, the conversation at the table growing distant and muffled. Her mother's kind smile, her father's easy laugh, Ben's smooth voice—all of it felt like it was happening to someone else. She tried to ground herself by focusing on the warmth of the wine in her hand, the faint hum of her father's voice, but her mind refused to settle.

They don't know what he did, she thought, the weight of that truth pressing down on her chest. Her parents were looking at Ben with such warmth, such familiarity, and she didn't have the heart to shatter their perception of him—not tonight. But the bitterness lingered. He doesn't deserve their kindness, their admiration. Not after everything.

Her gaze drifted across the table, landing briefly on Ben's face. He looked so at ease, so polished, like he belonged here, like he hadn't completely wrecked her. It grated on her nerves in a way she couldn't quite articulate. Why did I even invite him? she wondered for the hundredth time, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from letting her emotions spill out. This is a mistake. I should've told them the truth.

"Evie?" Ben's voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. His tone was light, teasing, but she caught the faintest glimmer of mischief in his expression. "Have you told them yet?"