Epilogue: Ethan’s Perspective 1
I was supposed to become a cop.
That was the plan, at least–follow in my dad’s footsteps, wear the badge, make him proud.
Then he jumped into that lake to save some random high school girl, and
everything went to shit.
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Standing at his funeral in my too–tight suit, the bagpipes playing “Amazing Grace,” I felt completely hollow. Just sixteen years old and already so full of rage I could barely swallow around it. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached, determined
not to let anyone see me cry.
The confusion and anger only deepened when her family showed up–the Reids- kneeling in front of my dad’s casket like they belonged there, promising to “take care of us” like we were some charity case.
Olivia Reid. The high school girl my dad died saving.
She stood slightly behind her parents, pale and perfect in a simple black dress, her eyes wide and full of guilt. She looked like a doll–fragile, porcelain, with too much awareness in her gaze.
I hated everything about her. The way she breathed, the way she existed, the way she lived while my father didn’t.
Why couldn’t she have been the one to die?
The thought was vicious, but I clung to it. It made more sense than the reality- that my hero dad was gone forever because some rich girl couldn’t swim. My mom couldn’t resist their “generosity.” We moved into a house in their neighborhood that screamed money and pity–all hardwood floors and fancy appliances and rooms too big for just the two of us.
My hatred for Olivia grew with each passing day. She was always around, watching me with those big worried eyes, like I was a bomb that might explode.
I tested her once, deliberately scratching her parents‘ expensive leather sofa with
my keys. She just tensed up, twisting her hands in her lap.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked, voice small. “I can ask my dad to get fabric instead.”
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I instantly turned cold. I knew she was performing, playing the selfless martyr. She was alive, breathing, unhurt–so of course she could afford to play the
compassionate savior to the poor, grieving family.
The final insult was my transfer to Dalton Academy, that pretentious school where
everyone drove BMWs their parents bought them. “A fresh start,” her dad called it.
As if I wanted to start fresh. As if I wanted to leave behind every connection to my
old life, my real life.
I knew she was behind it all that talk about “what’s best for me” was bullshit. I
didn’t need her protection or her guilt–charity. They just wanted me as a permanent accessory to showcase their generosity. “Look at this poor boy we saved after his heroic father died for our precious daughter.”
No one asked what I wanted. I lost all contact with Kate Matthews–my girlfriend, the one good thing I had left.
The day before I transferred, Kate pushed her yearbook toward me with teary eyes. “Write something for me before you go.”
I didn’t take it. What could I possibly write? “Sorry my dad died saving some rich. bitch so now I have to switch schools and probably never see you again“?
I had planned to ask her to prom, maybe even tell her I loved her at graduation. But now my gut told me we’d never have that chance.
The days at the Reids‘ house felt like torture. Olivia was always trying to do things. for me–making my favorite foods, helping with homework I didn’t ask for help. with, leaving little encouraging notes in my backpack.
Between classes at Dalton, I found myself thinking about her more than Kate. Not in a good way–I constantly wondered what new scheme she was plotting, what additional ways she’d find to control my life.
Then Kate told me she was going to Chicago for college–some fancy art school her parents could never afford.
She cried harder saying goodbye than she had when I left our old school. “It’s the biggest opportunity I’ve ever had,” she said, clutching my hands.
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I knew exactly what had happened. This wasn’t “opportunity“-it was calculated manipulation by the Reids. Buy off my girlfriend to complete my isolation.
Furious, I stormed off to confront Olivia. I don’t know why I grabbed flowers on the way I was there to demand answers, not give gifts.
But when I saw her in her graduation gown, surrounded by her friends, something inside me snapped.
All I could think was: she took everything from me. My father. My school. My girlfriend. My future.
So I’d take everything from her too.
I proposed in front of everyone, dragging a shell–shocked Olivia to the courthouse the next day. My heart hammered so violently I thought it might crack my ribs. Everyone kept saying we should wait, plan a real wedding, give people time to
travel for the ceremony.
But I was terrified I’d change my mind–or worse, that she would suddenly realize what I was doing, the twisted revenge I was enacting.
As she signed the marriage license with trembling fingers, I was more nervous than she was. Would she back out? See through me?
But she didn’t. She signed, and that was that. Bound together by a piece of paper
and a lifetime of resentment.
When I finally held that marriage certificate, the chaos inside me settled into cold
purpose.
This would be our life now–slowly destroying each other, day by painful day.
I made sure she knew that every disappointment, every setback, every miserable. moment was her fault.
I watched her grow quieter, more hesitant around me, tiptoeing through her own. home like she was afraid to take up space.
And I felt a twisted satisfaction.
She wouldn’t leave me. No matter what I did, she’d stay.
Because she owed me. She owed me everything.
