Stacy's steps were slow, heavy, like she was walking through water. Her chest ached from the conversation with Lesley, but her heart still pulled her forward—toward Zoe. Toward the truth.
She reached the restaurant where Zoe worked and hesitated just outside the glass doors, searching through the windows.
No sign of her.
She waited a moment, hoping maybe Zoe was just in the back. Maybe she'd appear any second, tray in hand, tired but smiling like she always did.
But minutes passed. Nothing.
Worry prickled in her chest as she stepped inside. The soft clatter of silverware and the scent of fried garlic and butter wrapped around her.
She caught a passing waiter, his hands full of menus.
"Hi—sorry. Do you know if Zoe's working today?" Stacy asked.
The waiter slowed, blinking at the name. "Zoe? Oh, yeah... Zoe. But she's not here anymore."
Stacy froze. "What do you mean she's not here anymore?"
"She got let go a few days ago."
"Let go?" Stacy's voice was thin. "Why? Did something happen? Did she... mess up?"
The waiter shook his head quickly. "No, no. She was great. Always early, stayed late. Hardest worker we had."
Stacy opened her mouth to ask more—but then the front door burst open behind her. The chime jingled above the frame. A deep voice called out, friendly and loud.
"Afternoon, Tom! Got that corner table open?"
The man strode in confidently, laughing as he clapped the manager on the back.
Stacy turned to look—and her blood turned cold.
She recognized him.
A sharp-featured man in a pressed shirt, silver hair swept back. She'd seen him before—years ago—on the green lawn of a private golf course. He was her father's golf buddy. One of his business partners. The kind of man who made calls behind closed doors and expected silence.
She didn't need to ask anything else.
The truth hit her like a brick to the chest.
Zoe didn't lose her job because of anything she did.
She lost it because of him. Because of her father. Again.
Her voice was flat as she turned back to the waiter. "Never mind. I think I understand now."
But she swallowed hard, steadying her breath. "Do you know if she found work somewhere else?"
The waiter nodded, thoughtful. "Pretty sure I saw her at Maple Bleu. Couple blocks east of here. Real upscale place."
Stacy murmured a quiet thank you and turned to leave—her steps slower now. Not from hesitation, but from heartbreak.
-
The sky had begun to gray as Stacy neared the next restaurant. Her mind was a blur of thoughts she couldn't outrun—rage, guilt, helpless love.
She stood outside Maple Bleu, staring in through the polished glass. It was upscale, pristine—nothing like the last place. She scanned the room, hoping for a glimpse of Zoe.
Nothing.
She stepped inside.
The restaurant was all quiet elegance—chandeliers glinting above, glassware clinking softly, the scent of rosemary and butter filling the air. Soft jazz floated in the background.
Then—
Smack.
The sound cracked through the air like a whip.
Stacy's head whipped toward the far end of the room—just in time to see Zoe stagger back, her cheek red, her eyes wide in shock.
A woman in a tight velvet dress loomed over her, fuming. A shattered bowl lay between them, soup splattered across the woman's legs.
"Do you have any idea how much this dress costs?!" the woman shrieked, eyes blazing. "Are you stupid?"
Zoe stood frozen, one hand pressed to her face, the other trembling at her side. She tried to speak, but her voice barely came out. "I—I'm sorry... I didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean to ruin a thousand-dollar dress?" the woman spat. "You're pathetic."
Zoe reached for a napkin, instinctively moving to help.
"Don't touch me!" the woman snapped, shoving her hand away like she was filth.
Stacy felt her breath catch.
The manager rushed over, bowing his head as he spoke to the customer, offering apologies, drink vouchers, anything to smooth it over. Then he turned to Zoe, his voice low but firm.
"Just... clean this up," he said under his breath, his tone clipped. "And get in the back when you're done."
Zoe knelt without a word, her hands shaking as she began picking up the broken pieces with bare fingers. Her shoulders quivered. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing—but the pain leaked out anyway.
And Stacy stood there—watching the woman she loved on her knees, crying in front of strangers, humiliated.
Her heart twisted violently in her chest, and tears blurred her vision.
This wasn't just hard work. This wasn't just making ends meet.
This was humiliation. This was breaking.
Zoe was on her knees in a place that didn't deserve her, wearing shoes that didn't fit the woman she used to be.
Stacy's hands curled into fists. Every nerve in her body screamed to go to her—to lift her off that cold floor, to take her home, to promise she'd never have to suffer another second.
But the thought stopped her cold—
How could she help the woman she loved,
when she was the reason she was here at all?
Did she even have the right to defend her?
To stand between her and that woman,
when she hadn't stood up soon enough to stop any of this?
Her feet refused to move.
Heavy. Rooted.
Guilt anchoring her to the floor.
She couldn't move.
She couldn't breathe.
All she could do was watch—
and break.
A sob rose in her throat, and she turned—fleeing through the door. The cold air slapped her face as she stumbled out onto the sidewalk, the glass door swinging shut behind her. The image was burned into her—Zoe on her knees, soup dripping from her sleeves, her cheek still red from the slap.
Stacy leaned against the brick wall, her hands trembling. Her chest ached with something deeper than heartbreak—a guilt so sharp it made her feel hollow.
This is what I've done to her.
She stared at her reflection in the restaurant's dark window. Pale. Shaken. Tears streaming.
I pulled her into my fire, and she's the one burning.
She slid down the wall and sank onto the curb, burying her face in her hands.
Zoe had never asked her to choose between love and privilege. Stacy had done that herself. She'd walked away from her father's world thinking that love—real love—would be enough to keep them afloat.
But now Zoe was the one drowning. And Stacy?
She had nothing left to throw her —
Except her heart. And her name.
After everything, do I still deserve to stand beside her?
She thought of Zoe's cracked hands, her weary smile. The lies she told just to protect Stacy from knowing how hard things really were.
Zoe hadn't just sacrificed for her.
She had suffered for her.
And Stacy—who once believed that leaving behind her name and wealth was strength—now wondered if her pride had cost them both too much.
Maybe real love doesn't mean holding on.
Maybe it means giving her back the life she deserved.
Even if it's not with me in it.
She stood slowly, wiping her eyes.
Then she pulled out her phone.
Her father's number stared back at her like a shadow—familiar, heavy, and cold.
For a long second, she just stood there, thumb hovering over the screen. Her stomach twisted.
She remembered the last words they'd said to each other. The anger. The disappointment. The silence that followed. He hadn't called. She hadn't wanted him to.
She tapped the screen.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then:
"Stacy."
Even now, his voice sent a chill down her spine. So composed. So detached.
She inhaled shakily, but her voice came out steady.
"We need to talk."
-
As Stacy stepped through the familiar walls of her childhood home, Zoe weighed heavy on her mind. Every heartbeat echoed with the same thought: I have to do this—for Zoe.
She loved her fiercely, and if this was the only way to save the woman she loved most, then she would bear whatever came. No matter the cost.
Passing through the living room, she caught sight of her mother. The shock was written across her mother's face—a silent question, an unspoken plea. Her mother started to rise, as if to reach out. But Stacy didn't stop. She met her mother's eyes for a brief, cool moment, then kept walking.
The soft click of the door to her father's office echoed in the quiet house.
Before entering, Stacy took a steadying breath and smoothed her jacket, steeling herself. The weight of months of silence and unspoken grievances pressed down on her, but she pushed it aside.
She opened the door.
Her father looked up, a half-smile curling at the corner of his mouth, his tone sharp with skepticism. "So... you finally came to your senses?"
Stacy met his gaze, her voice steady and controlled. "I'm done playing by your rules. I'll marry when Zoe's life is fixed. Secure her a real job and stability—until then, you don't breathe a word about the engagement."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a calculating smile. "Deal."
Without another word, Stacy turned on her heel and walked away, the door closing softly behind her.
She left with a resolve burning brighter than any pain inside—a promise she intended to keep for the woman she loved.