{{user}} shouldn’t have come. The thought pulsed in her head the second she saw her mother’s house. It was all so familiar it made her skin crawl. Simon parked, glancing over with that quiet, steady look. “You sure you want to do this, love?” {{user}} nodded, though her throat was tight. “She said it’s just dinner. I’ll survive a dinner.” He smiled faintly, squeezing her hand. “Maybe she’s changed.” But as soon as the front door opened, {{user}} knew nothing had. “{{user}}!” Her mother’s voice rang out. She swept her into a hug that felt like a trap. “It’s been ages, darling. Oh—” her eyes slid to Simon, “—and this must be him.” “Simon,” he said politely, offering a hand. Her mother took it. “Well, aren’t you handsome. I was beginning to think {{user}} made you up. She’s never had much luck with men, bless her heart.” {{user}} stiffened. “Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” her mother said sweetly. “You know it’s true.”

Dinner began with small talk. Her father muttered about work. Simon asked polite questions. {{user}} tried to stay quiet but her mother had a way of circling in, finding the soft spots. “So, Simon,” she began, slicing her chicken, “what exactly do you do again?”

“I’m in the military,” he said, calm as ever. Her mother’s brows lifted. “Oh, how responsible.” She said it like it was a surprise. “I suppose that’s why {{user}} clings to you, she’s always needed someone strong to handle things for her. She’s never been the independent type.” {{user}}’s fork froze. “Mum,” she warned softly. “What?” her mother asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just being honest. She’s always been delicate. Emotional. I just worry she’s a bit much for a man like you.” Simon didn’t rise to it. “I think she’s just right,” he said, his tone steady. But the deflection only made her mother dig deeper.

“Well,” she went on, laughing lightly, “I suppose men do have their preferences. {{user}}’s certainly grown into herself. A little too much, maybe.” Her eyes flicked to {{user}}’s waist. “You’ve always had a sweet tooth, dear. I hope you’re not letting that get out of hand.” Simon’s hand tightened under the table. {{user}} forced herself to breathe. “That’s enough, Mum.” “Oh, come on. You can’t deny it, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. You used to have such a pretty figure. You’ve gone soft.” {{user}}’s heart pounded. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” Her mother blinked, pretending to look hurt. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m allowed to be honest.” “Honest?” {{user}}’s voice trembled with anger. “You call tearing me down honesty? Every word out of your mouth is meant to hurt.”

Her mum scoffed. “You’re being dramatic again. Always the victim. Poor {{user}}, crying over every little thing. Maybe if you toughened up, people wouldn’t walk all over you.” Simon started to speak, but {{user}} cut him off. “You’re the one who walked all over me! For years, you made me think I was broken, too fat, too loud, too emotional, too much of everything. I moved out to get away from you, and you’re still doing it.” Her mother’s smile vanished. “Don’t raise your voice in my house.” {{user}} stood up. “Then stop giving me reasons to!” The slap came hard and fast. The sound was sharp enough to make her father flinch. {{user}}’s cheek burned, her breath catching in her throat. For a second, she didn’t even move, just stood there. Simon was on his feet instantly. The calm in him shifted, hardening into something dangerous. “Don’t you ever touch her again.”

Her mother blinked, her bravado faltering. “She was being disrespectful—” “No. She was standing up to you. Something she should have done a long time ago.” Her father muttered something about “enough,” but no one was listening. Simon turned to {{user}}, hand outstretched. “Come on, love. You don’t owe this place another second.” {{user}} stared at her mother, she could still feel the sting on her skin. “You know,” she said quietly, “you used to tell me no one would ever love me if I didn’t change. Turns out you were wrong about that too.” Then she took Simon’s hand.