They didnāt shout at first.
That would have made it easierācleaner, even. Anger could be answered. Raised voices could be matched. But this⦠this was quieter. A tightening of expressions. A shift in posture. The subtle closing of ranks.
She had only said what was there.
āIt isnāt working,ā she told them, hands steady at her sides. āWeāre pretending it is, but it isnāt.ā
Then came the looksāsharp, cutting, almost wounded. As if she had struck them instead of the lie they had built together.
āYou always do this,ā someone muttered.
āDo what?ā she asked.
āTwist things. Make them sound worse than they are.ā
The word lingered, sour and familiar. She glanced around the roomāthe carefully arranged comfort, the fragile illusion held together by agreement rather than truth. No one wanted to name it. Not really.
Not if naming it meant something had to change.
āIām not twisting anything,ā she said, quieter now. āIām just⦠saying it.ā
āThatās not how it feels,ā another voice snapped. āIt feels like youāre attacking us.ā
Not disagreement. Not even denial.
As if truth required violence to be heard.
She almost laughedābut there was no humor in it. Only a dull, aching recognition settling in her chest. They werenāt listening for what she meant. They were listening for how it made them feel.
And truth, stripped of comfort, rarely felt kind.
āIām not trying to hurt you,ā she said.
The certainty in that answer left no room for anything else.
She looked at themāreally looked this time. At the way they avoided her gaze, at how easily they turned toward each other for reinforcement, at how quickly she had become something other in the room.
All because she refused to soften what they needed blurred.
For a moment, she considered itāpulling back, reshaping her words into something easier to swallow. Something that wouldnāt scrape against them like glass.
Just⦠donāt say it that way.
The thought settled heavily, tempting in its quiet promise of peace.
But it wasnāt peace, was it?
Permission to let the lie breathe a little longer.
āNo,ā she said finally.
āNo,ā she repeated, steadier now. āIām not going to pretend just because the truth sounds ugly.ā
āIt doesnāt sound ugly,ā someone shot back. āIt sounds like you hate us.ā
She held their gaze, unflinching.
āThatās because you hate what Iām saying.ā
A sharp inhale. A ripple of discomfort.
āItās not the same thing.ā