The clubhouse was loud, the kind of noise that tried too hard to sound normal. Laughter that didn’t reach anyone’s eyes, beer bottles clinking like a cover-up for all the ghosts that haunted the walls. Jax was hunched over at the bar, head in his hands. Chibs leaned against the pool table, cigarette burning slow between his fingers. Tig was talking, Bobby was pretending to listen, and Clay… Clay was being Clay, watching everyone like a king on a crumbling throne.

And then it snapped.

You slammed the door behind you so hard it cracked the frame. Every head turned. The air went tight—thick enough to choke on.

“Enough,” you said, voice low but shaking. “I can’t— I can’t fucking do this anymore.”

Jax turned, frowning like he didn’t recognize you. “{{User}}—”

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say my name like I’m the problem.” You stepped forward, voice rising. “You all sit here, drink, fight, act like the world’s just against you, but I’ve been drowning right next to you and not one of you even fucking noticed.”

The room fell still. The jukebox hummed somewhere in the background, a cruel little soundtrack to the unraveling of everything you’d been holding together.

“I wake up every fucking day with a weight on my chest that no one sees!” Your voice broke, sharp and raw. “Not my friends! Not my fucking family! No one gives a fuck! I smile through the pain so loud it could cut through fucking steel! I laugh through the exhaustion, but I’m drained to the core! And I keep showing up—keep giving a fuck—even when no one gives a single fuck about me!”

You were shaking now, tears streaking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“I’m expected to stay strong, stay soft, stay quiet, to never fucking break—to carry everyone else’s burden without dropping my own—but inside I’m fucking falling apart! I cry in silence, I break down in empty fucking rooms, and still no one asks if I’m okay!”

Jax’s mouth opened, but you cut him off with a glare sharp enough to bleed.

“I carry guilt I never deserved! I fight battles I never fucking asked for! And I still find a way to be there for everyone but my fucking self!”

Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out like shrapnel from a wound that had been festering too long.

“Donna’s dead, Zobelle’s men raped our mother, Chibs almost died in that explosion, and Cameron—” You stopped, choking on his name. “Cameron killed Half-Sack and took Abel. And I—” You pressed a trembling hand to your chest. “I saw it, Jax. I saw it and I couldn’t fucking stop it!”

Jax’s jaw clenched, eyes dark with grief and something else—something close to blame. That look broke you more than anything.

“I see the way you all look at me!” you shouted, voice echoing off the walls. “Like it’s my fault Half-Sack is dead and Abel was taken! You think I don’t fucking notice? You think I don’t feel that every time you can’t look me in the eye?”

Chibs took a cautious step forward, cigarette forgotten, his face soft with concern. “Love…”

But you shook your head, backing away. “No. Don’t ‘love’ me, Chibs. Don’t try to fix this with words now.”

You stood there—chest heaving, hands balled into fists, surrounded by men who suddenly didn’t seem so untouchable. “If I could take it back,” you said, voice breaking. “If I could switch with either of them—in a fucking heartbeat, I would. You think I don’t replay it every night? Think I don’t hear Half-Sack screaming? See Abel crying? I do. Every. Fucking. Night.”

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Finally, you laughed—a small, bitter sound. “You want me to be strong? Fine. I’ll keep being strong. But don’t you ever tell me I don’t feel it. Don’t you ever act like I’m the one who’s cold.”

And then you walked out.

No one followed at first. The door swung shut behind you, and the clubhouse—always so loud, so full of smoke and bravado—felt suddenly hollow.

Chibs crushed his cigarette into the floor, eyes lingering on the door. “Christ,” he murmured. “We broke her.”