[Emily’s POV]

The ramen tastes like cardboard, but I keep eating it anyway. Maddie’s across from me on her bed, laptop balanced between us playing some baking show neither of us is watching. We’ve been doing this careful dance since this afternoon—polite and distant, like roommates instead of whatever we actually are.

Maddie sets her bowl down, hands fidgeting with her blanket. The nervous tell she doesn’t know she has. Something’s coming.

“So I’ve been thinking about something.” Her voice is too casual, rehearsed. “About maybe going to see my parents this weekend. Just thinking about it.”

My chopsticks freeze halfway to my mouth. “What?”

“My dad keeps calling, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just have dinner with them. Talk things through.” She won’t look at me, staring at the laptop screen where someone’s soufflé is deflating.

I set my bowl down carefully, the kind of carefulness that screams barely controlled panic. “Maddie, are you serious? After everything that happened—after what he did to you—”

“I know what he did.” Her spine straightens, shoulders pulling back into that defensive posture. “I was there, remember? But maybe people can change. Maybe I should give them a chance.”

“They don’t deserve a chance.” I stand because I can’t sit still, start pacing between our beds. Three steps, turn, three steps back. “Your father cut you off. He made you choose between your family and yourself, and now he’s suddenly had a change of heart? Just like that?”

“You don’t know what it’s like.” She stands too, arms crossed tight. “To lose your parents completely because of a wrong choice. To wonder if maybe there’s still a way back.”

“The wrong choice?” My heart hammers. “You think coming out was wrong? Being yourself was a mistake?”

“That’s not what I said.” Her fists clench. “I’m saying maybe I should talk to them before writing them off forever.”

“You don’t owe them anything.” My voice cracks. “I’m just worried about you. Can’t you see he’s manipulating you? Calling constantly, saying exactly what you need to hear—”

“To make me want a relationship with my own parents?” She laughs, sharp and bitter. “God, Emily, not everything is manipulation. Maybe my father actually misses me. Maybe he wants to fix this.”

“And maybe he wants to pull you back in so he can break you down again.” I step closer. “I’m trying to protect you from getting hurt all over again.”

“You cannot always protect me.” The words explode out of her. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs constant guarding. I can make my own decisions without you hovering over every choice.”

The accusation hits like a physical blow. “I’m not hovering. I’m caring.”

“Is there a difference? Because it feels like you’re trying to control who I see and what I’m allowed to feel about my own parents.” Her hands shake at her sides.

“One terrible conversation?” My voice rises. “They disowned you, Maddie. They stopped paying for school. They told you that you weren’t their daughter anymore—” I cut myself off, breathing hard.

“I’m texting my dad right now.” She pulls out her phone, fingers flying. I watch, frozen, as she types. When she’s finished, she holds up the phone for me to see. ‘Hey Dad. This weekend works. I’ll take the 3pm bus Saturday. Can you pick me up?’

Three dots appear immediately. Then: ‘That’s wonderful, sweetheart. Your mother will be so happy. I’ll be there. Love you.’ “Done. It’s decided. I’m going home.” she declares, vengeful and resentful.

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