Rose's nighttime escapades were becoming more frequent, and with every late return, the tension in the house grew thicker. Elise tried to act like everything was fine, but I could see the cracks forming in her usual calm demeanor.
"Do you think I should talk to her?" Elise asked me one morning as she sipped her tea.
"She's an adult," I replied, though even as I said it, I wasn't sure I believed it. "She has to make her own choices."
Elise gave me a worried look. "But she's still my daughter. I feel like I'm losing her all over again."
I didn't have an answer for that. All I could do was watch as Elise's concern for her daughter quietly ate away at her.
Later that night, Rose left the house around her usual time. She didn't say where she was going or when she'd be back. Elise stayed up late, pacing the living room and glancing at the clock every few minutes.
"Why don't you go to bed?" I suggested. "I'll wait up for her."
Elise hesitated before nodding. "Thank you, Daniel. I just… I can't keep doing this."
Once she went upstairs, I settled onto the couch with a book, determined to stay awake. Midnight came and went, and still no sign of Rose. I started to wonder if this was just her way of asserting her independence—pushing boundaries to see how far she could go.
But then, around 2 AM, I heard the familiar hum of her car pulling into the driveway.
When she walked in, she looked different—not just the usual smudged makeup and slightly disheveled hair. Her eyes were sharp, almost predatory, and there was a tension in her shoulders that hadn't been there before.
"Rough night?" I asked, setting my book aside.
She froze for a moment, as if surprised to see me still awake. "What are you, my babysitter?"
"No," I said calmly. "But your mom was worried."
Rose let out a short, humorless laugh. "Of course, she was." She kicked off her heels and slumped onto the armchair, her jacket slipping off one shoulder.
"You can't keep doing this," I said, keeping my voice level. "It's not fair to her."
Rose looked at me, her expression unreadable. "Why do you care so much, Daniel? You barely know me."
"Maybe I don't," I admitted. "But I know Elise, and she's bending over backward trying to make this work."
For a moment, I thought she was going to argue. But instead, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. "You don't understand," she murmured.
"Then explain it to me," I said.
She didn't answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, almost vulnerable. "I'm not cut out for this… family thing. I never was."
"Everyone feels out of place sometimes," I said. "That doesn't mean you give up."
She opened her eyes and looked at me, her gaze piercing. "And what makes you the expert?"
I shrugged. "I'm not. But I've seen what happens when people push others away for too long. It's not worth it."
Rose didn't say anything after that. She stood up, grabbed her jacket, and disappeared upstairs without another word.
The next morning, I woke up to find Rose sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone. She didn't look up as I entered.
"Coffee?" I offered, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.
"Sure," she said without enthusiasm.
As I poured her a cup, I noticed her phone screen—text messages from someone named Leo. The conversation was short and cryptic, but one message stood out: "I'll take care of it. Just be ready."
"Everything okay?" I asked, setting the coffee in front of her.
Rose locked her phone and gave me a tight smile. "Fine."
I didn't push, but the message lingered in my mind. Who was Leo, and what was he "taking care of"?
That evening, Elise convinced Rose to join us for dinner. It was the first time in weeks that we'd all sat at the table together.
"I was thinking," Elise began, her tone carefully cheerful, "maybe we could all go to church this Sunday. It might be nice to do something as a family."
Rose's fork paused mid-air, and she gave Elise a look that could freeze water. "You know that's not my thing."
"It doesn't have to be about religion," Elise said quickly. "It's just… about being together."
Rose set her fork down and leaned back in her chair. "I'll think about it," she said, though her tone made it clear she wouldn't.
The rest of the meal passed in strained silence.
Later that night, as I was locking up the house, I noticed movement in the driveway. Peeking out the window, I saw Rose talking to someone through the window of a car. The man's face was obscured, but there was something about the way he leaned toward her—close and intimidating—that made my gut tighten.
When she came back inside, I couldn't help but ask. "Who was that?"
"None of your business," she said, brushing past me.
"Rose—"
"Drop it, Daniel," she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
I watched as she disappeared into her room, the door slamming shut behind her.
Whatever Rose was involved in, it was starting to feel bigger than just her rebellion against family life. And whether I liked it or not, I was being pulled into her orbit.