The contest was over. The cheering had faded. Even Davis had left, after squeezing me tight one last time, whispering that he'd check on me later...work was calling him at the company.
I told him it was fine. Really, I did.
But my chest felt heavier the moment he walked away.
"Why can't you ever listen for once in your life?" Mum's voice slammed through the room, the moment I stepped in.
I hadn't even gotten two steps past the doorway before she was on me.
"It's not about listening," I bit back, arms folded tight across my chest. "It's about you not understanding. Cooking isn't some hobby I picked up because I was bored. It's me. It's who I am."
Her laugh was humorless, bitter.
"Who you are? Who's paying the bills while you're off playing with onions? You think the world bends for your little dreams, Liana?"
My heart slammed harder against my ribs.
"It's not little. It's what I love! I've studied, I've survived off scraps, I've fought to stay in the kitchen when everyone else wanted me to quit. I've earned this!"
"And for what?" she snapped. "So you can come home every night, broke and exhausted, stinking of oil? So you can waste your best years over pots and pans? What kind of future is that? What kind of daughter is that?"
I flinched, heat crawling up my throat. "A daughter who isn't afraid to fight for herself! Who isn't afraid to live outside your perfect little box!"
Mum's jaw tightened, her face pale with fury. "I wanted stability for you. Respect. A husband. A life worth something. But you..."
"You're just like your father!"
"And he would've wanted this." I pressed on.
"Of course he would. To take up a tractor job even." Mum mocked.
I blinked back the tears already forming in my eyes, swallowing. "You know sometimes...I wish you were gone instead of..."
And I felt it. A sharp, stinging pain pierced my left cheek.
"Don't. You. Dare." Mum glared furiously.
A silent gasp escaped my lips, my hand still clutching my cheek.
"Mum..."
But she'd already turned her back. As if I didn't matter. As if my passion, my sweat, my everything was nothing but noise to her.
I couldn't stand it anymore. My chest felt like it was caving in, so I did the only thing I knew how to do.
I stormed off.
I wandered. Past the buzzing streets, past everything that screamed of noise and life.
Until I found myself at the edge of town, standing before the overlook I'd always loved.
A cliff that stretched high, kissing the clouds, overlooking the endless dark ribbon of trees and city lights below.
The wind was cold up there, but I didn't mind. I wanted the cold. I wanted the silence.
I had a bottle with me.
A celebratory drink...one I'd bought on a whim earlier.
Tonight was supposed to be joy. Tonight was supposed to be the beginning of everything.
And yet… why did my chest feel so tight?
I sat on the rocky edge, legs dangling out dangerously, and took a swig.
The burn slid down my throat, sharp and unforgiving. I welcomed it.
I thought of Mom. How she never supported my cooking. How she wanted me to stay in medicine, wear the white coat, earn the big salary, and live the "respectable" life.
Even when she saw me nearly burn myself out, she wouldn't hear of my dreams.
And yet… I had made it.
I had won.
I was going to Paris.
For once, I had something to tell her...something that proved me right. She wouldn't listen now, wouldn't she?
I laughed bitterly, wiping my cheek. Took another swig. And another. The edges of the world began to blur just slightly, my body warm, my head just a little too light.
The phone in my pocket buzzed suddenly. I jerked, fumbling for it. My fingers slipped against the glass.
The phone tumbled.
"Ah...!"
I bent quickly, reaching for it before it shattered against the rocky ground. But in my drunken hurry, my ankle twisted hard against the jagged edge.
Pain shot through my leg, white-hot and sharp.
I gasped, arms flailing, searching for balance.
There was none. The ground vanished beneath me.
The world spun, a blur of wind and terror, as I fell...down, down, down, screaming into the night.
And then...darkness.