Stephanie's voice cut through the silence like glass shattering.
"What the hell is this?"
Her mother took a step forward, arms folded tightly across her chest like she was holding herself together.
"Stephanie—"
"Don't," Stephanie snapped, her voice already shaking. "You don't get to say my name like that. Not after eighteen years."
Leo's jaw clenched. His eyes were burning, but he stayed silent—only for a moment.
Then he turned toward the door. "I can't do this," he muttered.
"Leo, please," their mother called after him, her voice trembling.
But he was already gone.
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving only the echo and the thick tension in his wake.
Stephanie turned slowly, arms crossed tight against her chest, every muscle in her body taut.
Her mother swallowed hard. "I didn't abandon you. I just— I couldn't handle what happened that night. I wasn't strong enough to stay."
Stephanie blinked, her mouth twitching into a cold, incredulous smile. "You weren't strong enough? That's your excuse? You left, Mom. You took Elena and walked out. You never looked back."
Tears brimmed in her mother's eyes. "It wasn't that simple—"
"Oh, it was," Stephanie cut in sharply. "You chose to disappear. You let your kids grieve alone. You left me to take care of Leo while you—what? Hid?"
"I was grieving too—"
Stephanie laughed bitterly. "No. You were running. Big difference."
Her mother's voice cracked. "Your father… what he did that night—I couldn't live with it. I couldn't look at him."
Stephanie's head jerked back. "Are you serious right now?" Her hands trembled as she pointed toward the door. "He saved a boy, Mom. He risked his life to pull someone from a burning car. That's what you couldn't live with?"
Her mother tried to speak, but Stephanie wouldn't let her.
"Do you know how many nights I wished you'd come back? How many times I stood by the window waiting for headlights that never came?" Her voice broke. "Do you know what it felt like telling Leo that his mother didn't even leave a goodbye note?"
"I was scared," her mother whispered. "I thought I'd only make things worse. I thought… maybe you'd be better without me."
Stephanie's eyes narrowed, fury blazing through the tears that threatened to fall. "You don't get to come here now—after nearly two decades—and rewrite the story. You don't get to cry and ask for forgiveness like we're some little family that lost touch."
Her mother stepped forward. "I never stopped thinking about you—either of you. I hated myself for what I did, Steph. I hated every birthday I missed. Every year I didn't see you grow. But I came back now because—"
"Because you felt like it?" Stephanie bit out, her voice rising. "Because the guilt finally ate you alive?"
Silence.
Her mother's shoulders crumpled. "Because I couldn't carry it anymore."
Stephanie shook her head slowly, backing away. "You're heartless," she whispered. "You left the man who saved a life. You turned your back on your children because you couldn't deal with a moment of pain. You don't deserve to stand here and ask for anything."
Her mother's face contorted as she tried to hold back her sobs. "Please, Stephanie. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm still asking for it."
"No," Stephanie said coldly. "You don't get to ask."
She stepped toward the door and pulled it open.
The night air spilled in.
Her mother stood there for a long moment, eyes glassy, lips trembling. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Stephanie didn't move. Didn't blink.
"Get out," she said quietly.
Her mother hesitated—one more second—before nodding and stepping into the hallway.
As the door shut behind her, the silence roared.
Stephanie stood frozen, her hands still on the doorknob, her entire body quaking with rage and heartbreak.
Then her knees buckled.
And the sob she had been holding back for eighteen years finally broke free.