Chapter 22: Roxie

The drive home from Ricky’s was the quietest ten minutes of my entire life. My hands were steady on the steering wheel, but my brain was a chaotic mess of overlapping images: the way Ricky’s mom looked at him with that heartbreaking hope, the jagged edge in his voice when he refused to talk to his father, and the way it felt to finally stand in his world for an hour. It was raw. It was real. It was the complete opposite of the manicured, high-pressure atmosphere at East Shore High.

I stepped inside, moving quietly as I closed the heavy front door behind me. I just wanted to go upstairs, check on Olivia, and bury my face in my pillow until the "Roxie George" mask felt a little less heavy. But the second the latch clicked, the silence of the house was shattered.

"I am done with the excuses, Mark! I’ve been carrying the weight of this family’s reputation while you’ve been checked out for years!" My mother’s voice carried from the kitchen, sharp and vibrating with a familiar, toxic energy.

"No," my father said, standing up. He didn't look at my mother; he looked straight at me. "Roxie, come into the living room. We need to talk. Both of us."

My stomach dropped. I knew that tone. It was the "Family Meeting" tone, the one used for serious discussions about grades or summer internships. But this felt different. The air in the house felt thinner, like the oxygen was being sucked out of the room.

I followed them into the living room. I sat on the edge of the velvet armchair, my posture perfect out of habit, while they sat on the matching sofa opposite me. They weren't sitting together. There was a deliberate, yawning chasm of space between them.

"Where’s Olivia?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

"She’s at a sleepover at the Miller’s house," Mom said, her voice unusually soft. "We wanted to speak with you alone first. You’re older... you’re more observant. We know you’ve noticed that things haven't been... easy."

"That’s an understatement," I muttered, looking at my shoes.

My father cleared his throat, a dry, raspy sound. "Roxie, your mother and I have reached a decision. We’ve tried to make this work. For you, for your sister, for the image of this family. But we’ve realized that we’re just... we’re breaking each other. And in the process, we’re breaking this home."

He paused, and the silence that followed was the loudest thing I had ever heard.

"We’re getting a divorce," he said.

The words didn't hit me like a shock; they hit me like a relief that hurt. It was like finally admitting that the sky was blue after years of pretending it was green. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just felt a sudden, hollow emptiness in the center of my chest.

"We’ve already worked out the initial logistics," Mom chimed in, her voice regaining some of its rehearsed steel. "I’ll be staying here with you and Olivia. Your father has found an apartment near the city. We’re going to keep this as quiet as possible for now. There’s no need for the whole of East Shore to be gossiping about our private business before the paperwork is even filed."

I looked at her, really looked at her, and felt a surge of pure, unadulterated anger. "That’s what you’re worried about? The gossip? We’re losing our family, and you’re worried about the senior committee finding out?"

"Roxie, that’s not fair—"

"No, what’s not fair is that I’ve spent the last two years listening to you two tear each other apart while I tried to keep Olivia from hearing it!" I stood up, the exhaustion finally turning into fire. "I’ve spent every day at that school pretending everything was fine because you told me that’s what a George does. And now you’re sitting here telling me it’s over, but I still have to keep up the act?"

"We just want to protect you," Dad said, reaching out a hand, but he didn't move to touch me.

"You’re protecting your egos," I snapped. I thought of Ricky’s dad on the phone, a ghost trying to haunt a house he’d already abandoned. I thought of Ricky standing his ground. "I'm done with the secrets. I'm done with the 'perfect' act. You want a divorce? Fine. Get a divorce. But don't expect me to keep lying for you."

I turned and walked out of the room before they could say another word. I took the stairs two at a time, my heart hammering against my ribs. I made it to my room, locked the door, and slumped against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.

The house was quiet now. A terrible, permanent kind of quiet.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over Ricky’s name. I wanted to call him. I wanted to tell him that he was right—that the house of cards had finally collapsed. But I couldn't. Not yet. I wasn't ready to be the "broken" girl.

I leaned my head back against the door and let out a single, jagged sob. Everything was changing. East Shore High was going to find out. My parents were going to live in different places, Olivia would be crushed and confused. And I was no longer the girl who had it all together.

But as I sat there in the dark, I realized one thing. For the first time in my life, I didn't have to pretend. The secret was out, the mask was cracked, and maybe—just maybe—that meant I could finally be real. Even if it hurt.