Brooke tells Bethany and Larry that she’s leaving home to go to Sharra’s house

Brooke tells Bethany and Larry that she’s leaving home to go to Sharra’s house

 The house had never felt so small.

Sunlight filtered through the tall living room windows, casting soft patterns across the hardwood floor. The air was still, but not peaceful. It was the kind of stillness that comes before a storm—quiet on the surface, restless underneath.

Bethany stood near the kitchen counter, a mug warming her hands though she hadn’t taken a sip in several minutes. Larry leaned against the arm of the couch, arms crossed, watching Brooke carefully.

And Brooke stood in the center of the room with a bag hanging from her shoulder.

Her posture was steady.

Her expression was not.

“I need to tell you something,” Brooke said.

Her voice didn’t shake—but it wasn’t calm either. It carried weight. Decision. Finality.

Bethany’s fingers tightened around her mug. “What is it?”

Brooke inhaled slowly, as if bracing herself.

“I’m leaving.”

The words dropped heavily into the room.

Larry straightened. “Leaving… like for the day? Or—”

“Leaving home,” Brooke clarified. “I’m going to Sharra’s house.”

Silence.

The clock on the wall ticked louder than it had any right to.

Bethany blinked. “You’re what?”

Brooke adjusted the strap on her bag. It was packed. Not for a weekend. Not for a casual visit. Packed with intention.

“I can’t stay here right now,” she said. “I need to go talk to her. Face-to-face. Not through messages. Not through rumors.”

Larry’s jaw tightened. “After everything that happened?”

“That’s exactly why.”

Bethany set her mug down slowly, like any sudden movement might make this moment shatter. “Brooke… you two haven’t spoken properly in weeks.”

“I know.”

“And the last time you tried, it turned into a fight.”

“I know that too.”

Larry stepped forward. “Then why would you walk right back into that?”

Brooke’s eyes flashed—not with anger, but with something stronger.

“Because avoiding it hasn’t fixed anything.”

The truth hung in the air.

Since the fallout with Sharra, the house had been divided—not physically, but emotionally. Conversations had become shorter. Meals quieter. Brooke carried her frustration like armor, but beneath it was guilt. And hurt. And confusion.

Bethany’s voice softened. “Did she ask you to come?”

“No.”

Larry raised an eyebrow. “So this is your idea.”

“Yes.”

Bethany studied her face carefully. “Are you going to apologize?”

Brooke hesitated.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe. If I need to.”

Larry let out a breath through his nose. “That sounds like you’re still planning to defend yourself.”

“I’m not going there to fight,” Brooke insisted. “I’m going there because I’m tired of this hanging over everything.”

She gestured around the house.

“You can feel it, can’t you? The tension. The way every conversation somehow circles back to her name.”

Bethany looked down.

Larry didn’t deny it.

Brooke’s voice softened. “Sharra was my friend. Not just someone I worked with. Not just someone I competed with. My friend.”

Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t let tears fall.

“And if I lose that without at least trying to fix it… that’s on me.”

Bethany walked closer. “What if she doesn’t want to fix it?”

Brooke swallowed. “Then I’ll know I did everything I could.”

Larry ran a hand over his head. “You could call her.”

“I tried.”

“She didn’t answer?”

“She read it.”

That hurt more.

Bethany reached for Brooke’s arm. “Are you sure this isn’t about proving something?”

Brooke gave a faint, sad smile. “Maybe it is. Maybe I need to prove that I’m not the villain in her story.”

Larry’s voice lowered. “And what if she thinks you are?”

Brooke looked at him directly.

“Then I’ll listen.”

That surprised both of them.

The Brooke they knew would have argued. Defended. Pushed back.

But this Brooke looked… tired.

Not defeated. Just done with the distance.

Bethany’s eyes moved to the packed bag. “How long are you staying?”

“I don’t know.”

“Brooke.”

“A night. Maybe two.”

Larry shook his head slowly. “This feels impulsive.”

“It’s not. I’ve been thinking about this for days.”

“Without telling us.”

“I needed to be sure.”

The room fell quiet again.

From outside, a car passed, the sound briefly filling the silence.

Bethany finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re scared.”

Brooke exhaled.

“Yes.”

It was the most honest word she’d said all morning.

“I’m scared she’ll slam the door in my face. I’m scared she’ll say things I can’t un-hear. I’m scared I’ll realize I was wrong.”

Larry looked at her more gently now.

“And you’re still going?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Brooke’s answer came without hesitation.

“Because not going scares me more.”

That landed differently.

Bethany’s shoulders relaxed just slightly.

Larry uncrossed his arms.

“You really care about her,” Bethany said.

Brooke nodded. “I do.”

Larry looked at the door, then back at Brooke. “You know this won’t be easy.”

“I don’t want easy.”

Bethany stepped forward and wrapped Brooke in a hug. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t long. But it was full of understanding.

“Call me,” Bethany whispered. “If it gets bad.”

“I will.”

Larry hesitated before pulling Brooke into a brief hug too. “Don’t let pride speak louder than your heart.”

She gave a small laugh. “I’ll try.”

Brooke picked up her bag.

The simple sound of the zipper brushing against the fabric seemed louder than usual.

She walked toward the door, each step firm but heavy with meaning.

At the threshold, she paused.

Turned back.

“No matter what happens… thank you for letting me figure this out.”

Bethany nodded.

Larry gave a short, approving look.

Then Brooke opened the door.

The outside air hit her face—cool, fresh, uncertain.

She stepped out.

The door closed behind her with a quiet click.

Inside the house, the silence returned—but it felt different now. Not tense.

Anticipatory.

Bethany moved to the window, watching as Brooke walked down the driveway with steady determination.

Larry joined her.

“You think she’ll be okay?” Bethany asked.

Larry looked thoughtful.

“I think she’s about to find out who she really is.”

Outside, Brooke didn’t look back again.

Sharra’s house wasn’t far.

But the distance between them had never felt longer.

And for the first time in weeks, Brooke felt something stronger than anger