Page 71 of One Last Encore

Now, sitting across from her in his favorite café, a spot he’d practically claimed as his second home since moving to Brooklyn, it still didn’t feel real.

She was right there, but his brain hadn’t caught up. He’d spent so much time thinking about her, imagining her little reactions to his day. The look she’d give him for buying a churro from a subway vendor, the way she’d laugh when he tipped his beanie to a reckless driver like a gentleman bidding them farewell.

And now she was here, not just a daydream. He gave his own leg a quick pinch under the table, the sting told him that this was real. She was actually sitting in front of him.

"I wanted to tell you about the scars," she said, her voice trembling just enough to make his heart sink.

"My dad met my now-stepmom on a business trip overseas and fell for her almost instantly. And my mom..." Ingrid paused, her voice shifting into something flatter, more careful. "She’s not exactly the easiest person to deal with." Ingrid started, her voice measured.

"He came back, sat her down, and told her he wanted a divorce. Let’s just say she didn’t take it well." She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug.

"It’s not like they were madly in love. Their marriage was more about convenience than anything else. A partnership that looked good on paper but didn’t have much behind it." She let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "My mom got… bitter. She doesn’t do second place. Ever."

"With my dad out of the picture, she needed somewhere to put all that anger,” Ingrid said softly. “And I guess I was the easiest target. It didn’t start loud. Just... small things. Offhand remarks. Comments about my weight. About not being good enough, not standing out."

"Eventually, it turned into warnings. That people leave when they get bored. That I had to stay skinny, talented,perfect—so it wouldn’t happen to me too."

She finally looked up, meeting Beck’s gaze head-on.

"I was fourteen. And I thought she was trying to help me."

Something in Beck broke at that. He tightened his grip over her hand, his thumb running slow, steady circles against her skin.

"When my dad moved to South Africa to be with his new girlfriend, it was just me and Mom. And suddenly, managing me became her full-time obsession. What I ate, how I trained, how I stood, how I slept. It stopped being parenting. It turned into control."

Her voice softened, trembling slightly, though she tried to keep it steady. "She’d nitpick everything. Every tiny mistake. Every ounce gained. Every moment I didn’t hold perfect posture."

"It escalated. The pressure. The criticism. The constant feeling of falling short. It got to the point where I couldn’t even breathe without wondering if I was letting her down."

She exhaled shakily.

"At first, I thought I could handle it. I tried to keep myself in line by snapping a hair elastic on my wrist if I messed up a turn or forgot choreography. But after a while, that stopped working."

"One night, it just felt like too much. All the pressure, all the expectations. I couldn’t escape it. So, I started cutting… in places no one could see. It gave me this weird sense of control that I’d lost, like I could choose that pain instead of drowning in everything else."

Beck didn’t say anything, he just held her hand tighter. But inside, something ignited, hot and bitter and sharp. He hated that she had gone through that alone. Hated that she’d felt like hurting herself was the only way to breathe.

"Eden noticed. She always does. It’s the gift and the curse of knowing each other so well," she added with a weak smile. "But I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. She had her own stuff goingon, and I didn’t want to pile mine on top of hers. So I kept it all bottled up. I figured if I could just push through, I’d be fine."

"Eventually, the school counselor got involved. I opened up to him, and he had to tell my parents. My dad flew back from South Africa as soon as he found out, but my mom? She acted like it never happened. Didn’t say a word about it. Just carried on like everything was normal. Then, a few months later, she left for France and never looked back."

Ingrid let out a bitter laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. "Classic her. Out of sight, out of mind."

She swallowed, her voice softer now.

"My dad was better. He tried to be there for me, to help me figure things out. But then he remarried, and my stepmom moved in. I love her, I really do. She’s kind and supportive in her own way, but… they’ve got their own lives now. Sometimes, I feel like I just fade into the background."

"Eden moved in the year after her mom died. Having her around changed everything. She grounded me when I felt like I was drifting. I started therapy, and things started to settle."

Her voice steadied as she pressed on.

"I haven’t self-harmed in years. It’s still hard sometimes, but I’ve learned how to manage it. How to push back when the old habits try to creep in. And…" She paused, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t believe I just said all of that out loud."

Her eyes met his, just for a moment then flicked away.

"Letting you see this part of me?" she said. "It scares the hell out of me."

Beck didn’t hesitate. He brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there.

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