[Maddie’s POV]

I walk without direction, feet carrying me away from the dorm, away from Emily’s hurt expression, away from words I can’t take back. The campus is dark except for streetlights casting yellow pools on the sidewalk, my breath fogging white in the October cold.

My own voice loops in my head. “Why are you trying to keep me from my parents? Why do you get to decide if I see them or not?” The accusation I threw at Emily sits in my chest like a stone. Was she being controlling? Or am I being manipulated? I can’t tell anymore.

I end up at the practice rink without planning it. The building looms dark, all windows black, and the parking lot empty. Of course it’s locked—past eleven on a Friday.

I try the door anyway, yanking the handle like maybe it’ll magically open and I can disappear onto the ice where everything makes sense.

It doesn’t budge. I sink down onto the concrete steps, cold seeping through my jeans immediately. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe sitting in the freezing cold is punishment for whatever I’ve become.

The wind cuts across the parking lot and I pull my jacket tighter. I left without my scarf or gloves. Emily probably noticed. Emily notices everything about me, even when I wish she wouldn’t.

“Why are you trying to keep me from my parents?” I said that to her. I accused Emily of being the villain, when all she’s done is protect me. My father cut me off, threw me away, and now he’s calling with his warm voice, and I threw those words at Emily for pointing out how fucked up that is.

My phone buzzes. For a second I think it might be Emily, that we can fix this. But my father’s name glows on the screen like he has some sixth sense for when I’m vulnerable.

I stare at it for three rings, thumb hovering over decline. I should let it go to voicemail. Instead, I answer.

“Madison?” His voice is warm, concerned in a way that makes my chest ache. “Honey, I was just thinking about you. How are you doing?”

The question breaks something in me. “I don’t know,” I hear myself say, voice small and young. “I don’t know how I’m doing.”

A pause, long enough I almost think the call dropped. Then he speaks, gentler. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You can talk to me.”

“I had a fight with Emily.” The words spill out before I can stop them. This is what he wants—for me to complain about Emily, to prove she’s the problem. But I’m tired and cold and his concern feels real.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, and he actually sounds like he means it. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know if I’m okay.” I watch my breath fog in the air. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Another pause, shorter this time. When he speaks again, his voice is careful, measured, like he’s choosing each word deliberately.

“I know this is hard for you, Madison,” he offers softly. “Relationships at your age are complicated. There’s so much pressure, so many expectations. Sometimes it’s hard to see things clearly when you’re right in the middle of it all.”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the railing. The metal is freezing but I don’t care. “She thinks you’re manipulating me,” I say, because if I’m doing this, I might as well be honest. “She thinks you’re trying to get me to leave her.”

“Is that what you think?” he asks, no defensiveness in his voice, no anger. Just quiet curiosity, like he genuinely wants to know.

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