The morning is too quiet.

The driveway’s still damp from the sprinklers, and the wheels of your suitcase leave shallow tracks as you pull it toward the curb. Your hands shake, but you keep your chin up. You already said the words — the apology, the confession — in front of everyone last night. You stood under that hot town light while they looked at you like you were something shameful.

Your mother didn’t cry. Not even when Owen’s father stood beside her and said you had led his son astray. That you had tempted a man of God.

They read the texts. The ones on the phone he gave you. Said they proved everything. No one cared what he said to you first.

Now, you’re being sent away.

You hear the sound of tires on gravel before you see the car. You freeze.

Owen.

He pulls up fast, barely puts the car in park before he’s out and running to you. His shirt’s wrinkled. His eyes are glassy, like he didn’t sleep. And when he reaches you, he takes your face in both hands like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t.

“Please,” he says, breath catching, “run away with me.”

You don’t say anything.

“Please, listen,” he goes on, voice shaking. “I let my dad get in my head, okay? And I got scared. I want you to come with me. Back to Puerto Rico.”

You stare at him, everything in you still and buzzing all at once. “Are you serious?”

He nods fast, eyes never leaving yours. “Yes, I’m serious. I love you. I wanna be with you. You are the only one that sees me. I don’t wanna be without you.”

Your heart thumps loud and hard in your chest like it’s trying to answer for you. And still, all you can do is look at him and try to remember how to breathe.