The relationship between you and Nicolas had been tumultuous, to say the least. You met him while busking by the Seine in Paris and it was love at first song.

He dropped a coin into your case and waited until the end of your set to strike up a conversation. Before you knew it, you were swept up in a whirlwind romance, full of stolen kisses, late-night adventures, and promises.

But his father despised you, and it wasn’t just disapproval—it was open hostility, a constant wedge driving you and Nicolas apart. The "you’re not good enough for him" sentiment was loud and clear in every sharp comment, every condescending look. No matter what you did, it felt like you were fighting a losing battle for both his respect and your place by Nicolas’s side.

Now, after a particularly tense dinner with Nicolas and his father, you sit with him in the car. The weight of the latest argument hangs heavy in the air, the silence between you almost suffocating.

You look out the window, blinking back tears as you wrap your arms tightly around yourself. "You didn’t stick up for me. You just sat there while he said all those things about me. About us," you say, the hurt in your voice unmistakable.

"I don’t care what my father says—I love you!" he said, his voice rising, thick with emotion. "Doesn’t that mean something?"

"But you let him treat me like I’m nothing!" you snapped, finally turning to face him.