Chapter 2: Jean ’s Life
I want to die!
Some days, Jean woke up feeling like she was suffocating. Today was one of those days.
The ticking clock on the wall felt louder than usual, a rhythmic reminder that time never stopped... not even when she wanted it to.
Jean sat at the breakfast table, the same place she had for the last twenty-five years, but today, the weight of the room pressed against her chest. Darla Adams, her mother, barely glanced up from her perfectly buttered toast. Her mother's gaze was cold as it flicked from the toaster to Jean's face, as if inspecting a product under a harsh light.
"You look tired." She asked, not looking up. Her voice was smooth, detached, as if making an observation about the weather. She set her knife down with a quiet clink. "Did you even check the mirror before coming down?"
Jean swallowed, gripping the cool glass of orange juice. "I didn't think it was necessary."
But that wasn't even a question, it was more like a demand. "If some paparazzi takes that picture of your face, it would create unnecessary controversy."
Her father, Derek Adams, sitting at the head of the table, cleared his throat. "Your mother has a point. People notice things like that." He took a slow sip of his coffee. "Are you sure you're eating healthy? Maybe consider cutting back on the bread."
Jean's stomach twisted, she put her lip suppressing the words that bubbled to the surface but she forced a small, pleasant smile. "I'm fine." Hoping they'd let her eat in peace, even for a moment.
Her elder brother, Alex, barely acknowledged the conversation, too absorbed in his phone. But even his silence carried weight. The quiet judgement in his presence was always present, like a ghost lingering in the background. He was the golden child, the one who never faltered, never disappointed. Jean, on the other hand, was the family obligation.
Darla finally set down her toast and looked directly at her, her voice cutting through the silence. "We've arranged another date for you. You need to go, Jean. It's time." Her mother's words didn't feel like a suggestion, more like a rule.