ＤＥＳＩＲＥＥ

The next day, I sat alone, flipping through the script, trying to force myself into the character I was supposed to play. But I couldn't focus.

Wallace lingered in my thoughts.

I was startled out of my reverie when the door creaked open, and Wallace walked in.

He looked more serious than I had ever seen him. 

Closing the door behind him, he turned to me, his gaze steady.

I straightened in my chair, instantly on edge. I already guessed what he wanted to say, judging by the look on his face.

"Look, I've done everything I can," I began before he could speak, cutting off the lecture I assumed was coming.

"Audrey's back in the play. Even if she doesn't have the lead, she's still getting the grades she needs. That's what matters, right?"

Wallace raised a hand, stopping me mid-sentence.

"I know. That's not why I'm here."

I blinked, caught off guard by his calm tone.

"Then what is it?"

"I have something to suggest," he said, his voice steady. "And before you get mad, just hear me out."

Crossing my arms, I narrowed my eyes, already irritated by the idea of whatever plan he was about to propose.

"I think you should step down from the role," Wallace said.

The words hit me like a punch and I froze, staring at him, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"What?"

"You've worked hard," he said, undeterred. "I've seen it. But don't you think you'd be better off doing something you're truly passionate about?"

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief.

"This is about Audrey, isn't it? You're just saying this so she can have the lead."

Wallace's expression softened, but his gaze remained firm.

"No, it's not about Audrey. This is about you. I think you're meant for more than just standing on stage. You love writing, Desiree. I've seen it in you."

I turned away, my chest tightening. His words hit far too close to home.

"I'm doing this because it's what's expected of me," I said, my voice colder than I intended.

Wallace sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"You can keep telling yourself that, but I don't believe you. You want to make your mom proud, I get that. But there's more to you than this. You have your own dreams. Why else would you care so much?"

I met his gaze, but the vulnerability in his eyes unsettled me.

"I'm doing what's expected of me," I repeated, the words hollow.

Wallace studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded a shadow of sadness in his expression.

"One day, Desiree, you're going to have to face what you really want," he said softly. "You can't keep hiding forever."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone with the weight of his words.

That night, I stood in front of my mirror, staring at my reflection.

My hair was perfectly styled, my makeup flawless—as if I were a doll on display.

Yet beneath the surface, I felt broken, like a fragile illusion on the brink of shattering.

Wallace's voice echoed in my mind.

"You love writing, Desiree. I've seen it in you."

It terrified me that he kept seeing through the mask I had spent years perfecting. He had looked past the polished surface and found the cracks I had desperately tried to hide.

I stared harder at my reflection, at the cold, composed expression that had become my armor.

The perfect daughter.

The flawless heiress.

The obedient puppet.

Every movement, every word, every smile had been rehearsed a thousand times. I was living a life scripted for me before I even had a choice.

The play had been my rebellion, a small act of defiance, a desperate attempt to hold on to the part of me that still remembered what it felt like to create.

Writing was the one thing that made me feel alive, made me feel real. But in the world outside my imagination, I was nothing but her shadow.

Wallace had seen the real me. And that comforted yet scared me more than anything.

I turned to the window, pulling the curtains aside.

The night sky stretched out endlessly, the stars glittering like promises of something better.

For a fleeting moment, I wondered what it would be like to run away, to leave behind the expectations, the pressure, the constant need to be perfect.

But I didn't know how to run. I had never learned.

My hand brushed against my desk, where the pages of a forgotten script lay scattered.

I picked one up, running my fingers over the words I had written. My story. My dreams.

Yet even as I held the page, the weight of her expectations pressed down on me, reminding me that no matter what I did, it would never be enough.

A hollow laugh escaped my lips as I crumpled the page and tossed it into the trash.

"Stupid," I muttered.

I leaned against the window frame, crossing my arms tightly over my chest.

Wallace's words echoed again.

"You can't keep hiding forever."

I opened my eyes and looked at the stars again. They felt impossibly far away, like my dreams.

But a small, defiant thought crept into my mind.

What if I tried?

I sighed, stepping away from the window.

My gaze drifted to the trash can, to the discarded pages. My fingers itched to write, to create, to be free. But instead, I turned away, leaving the room in darkness.

I wasn't ready yet.

But maybe someday, I would be.

Someday, I'd find the courage to stop hiding.

๋࣭°࣪ ִ⭑․𓃠⭒˚.• ݁

The very next day, as I sat having lunch with my usual group of friends, the conversation veered into uncomfortable territory.

They chattered on about family expectations, inheritance, and future plans—topics I could navigate with ease if I were in the right mood. But today, I wasn't.

The fake smiles, the forced laughter, I was struggling to keep the mask in place.

Every mention of parental ambitions or paths carved by family legacies made my chest tighten.

Someone even remarked on how lucky I was to be the perfect daughter, following in Eveline Hart's footsteps.

I wanted to scream.

As their words weighed down on me, I caught sight of Wallace across the room.

He was leaning against the wall, his sharp eyes were on me.

For a moment, I thought he'd look away, but then he started walking toward us, his movements easy and casual.

"Desiree," he said as he approached, his tone perfectly neutral, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

The group's conversation faltered.

I blinked, trying to hide my relief, and nodded, taking the lifeline he'd thrown without hesitation.

"Of course," I said, masking my gratitude with a cool smile.

I turned to the others, forcing a polite smile. "Excuse me."

He led me away, weaving through the crowd until we reached a quieter corner a few feet outside the cafeteria. The air was cooler out here, and I could breathe again.

We stood in silence for a moment. 

I didn't thank him. I wasn't sure if it was intentional or a coincidence that he'd pulled me out of that conversation, but something told me Wallace knew exactly what he was doing.

I leaned against the railing, staring out into the courtyard, trying to shake the uncomfortable knot in my chest. But it didn't go away.

Wallace didn't leave either. We were alone, and the silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken words.

"Are you okay?" he asked after a moment, his tone softer now.

I turned to him, caught off guard by the question.

"What's it to you?" I snapped before I could stop myself. 

The frustration bubbling inside me finally had a target.

Wallace's jaw clenched, but he didn't look away. He stayed calm—almost too calm—and it only made me angrier.

"You looked like you were suffocating in there."

"That's none of your business." My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn't care.

He nodded slowly, not backing down.

"Maybe not. But you've been suffocating for a long time...haven't you?"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. 

I didn't want to have this conversation. Not now. Not with him.

"What are you talking about?" I asked though we both knew the answer.

"You're pretending, Desiree," he said, his voice quiet but unyielding. "Every day, every smile, every word. It's all a lie. And you're dying inside because of it."

My breath caught in my throat, and I turned away, staring down at my hands.

"I don't know what you think you know," I said, my voice shaky, "but I'm fine. I've always been fine."

"Really? Is that why you can barely stand being in the same room as those people? Why you look like you're about to break every time someone mentions your mother?"

I flinched at the mention of her. My mother.

"You don't understand," I whispered, shaking my head. "You don't know what it's like. I don't get to choose, Wallace. I don't have the luxury of dreams. I have obligations. I have to be perfect. For her."

"I know..." He stepped closer, his eyes dark and serious, but there was no anger there.

"Honestly, my father has controlled every part of my life. He decided what I'd study, who I'd associate with, what I'd become. And I let him. I let him, and it destroyed me."

I stared at him, stunned into silence when he opened up to me.

"I used to think I had to do what he wanted. Be what he wanted."

Wallace continued, his gaze hardening.

"Until it broke me. I spent years fighting him in the wrong ways—rebelling, getting into trouble, and ruining everything I cared about just to spite him. But none of it made me happy. None of it made me feel like I was in control of my life. It wasn't until I left that I realized the only way to fight back was to live for myself."

"That's different," I said quietly. "You were able to leave. I can't."

"Yes, you can," he said, stepping closer and grabbing hold of my waist, his voice low but fierce. "You're stronger than you think. But you have to decide if your life is worth living for you. You have to fight for your dreams, Desiree."

"I don't have dreams," I muttered, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. "I have responsibilities."

"That's not true."

Wallace's voice softened, but there was still an edge to it like he was trying to pull the truth out of me.

"You've had dreams since you were a kid. You've just buried them so deep you're afraid to even acknowledge they're still there."

I clenched my fists at my sides, the anger, frustration, and fear boiling over.

"I can't, Wallace! I can't! If I try to break free, I'll lose everything—my family, my future. Do you know what that's like? To feel like you're nothing without them? Without her?"

He was silent for a moment, then whispered, "I do. But what's the point of living if it's not your life? What good is a future if it's one you hate?"

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of his words press down on me. My heart pounded in my chest, the conflict tearing me apart. I had spent so long living for my mother, doing everything to please her, to prove I was worthy of her love. But what if...

"I don't know how to stop," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"You do," he said softly. "You just have to decide if it's worth it."

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.

I hated that he was right. I hated that he was forcing me to face the truth I had been avoiding for so long.

"I'm scared," I admitted, my voice barely audible.

Wallace stepped closer, his hand cupping my face as his thumb gently wiped away my tears, as though he feared his touch might break me.

"I know," he said, his voice steady. "But you're not alone, Desiree. Not anymore."

I looked up at him, my vision blurry with tears. He was right there, closer than I had ever let anyone get.

And for the first time in my life, I didn't feel alone.

Maybe... just maybe, I could fight.

๋࣭°࣪ ִ⭑․𓃠⭒˚.• ݁

Weeks later

I stood in the back of the theater, watching Wallace and Audrey take the stage for the final performance.

The play I had written. The words that had come from my heart. The story that was mine.

And yet, as I watched them perform, I felt... hollow.

The audience erupted into applause, the sound echoing through the auditorium.

Wallace caught my eye for a brief moment, and I could see the pride in his gaze. But it only added to the ache.

After the performance, I lingered in the shadows, watching as everyone celebrated.

Wallace eventually found me standing alone in the corner. He smiled softly as he walked up to me.

"You did a great job, Des. Everyone's proud of you."

Everyone except the one person who mattered.

My mother hadn't even bothered to show up.

I forced a smile. "Thanks."

Wallace frowned, but he didn't push.

Instead, he just stood there for a moment before quietly saying, "You should be proud of yourself, too."

But I wasn't.

Because no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I gave, I would never be enough.

Not for my mother.

Not for anyone.

☀༉‧

Sooooo, what do you think's going to happen next?

Will she finally start fighting for herself, or will she continue to bury her dreams?

Also, if you've made it this far, can we talk about how much Desiree's struggle with expectations feels like a battle we ALL know too well? 🙃 

Drop a comment—I love hearing from you!

Next update is coming soon... Until then, stay strong. 💪💖

__melodyshhh 𓇢𓆸