When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

Submission's Echo

She sniffled and nodded, eyes wide.

The dining room hummed with clinking forks. Lillie sniffled between bites. Marcus was talking to Dan about maybe about the final match, which is tonight. Finally, they have been practicing too much. And looks like they made some progress in their relationship. They have spoken to each other more than ten words.

I moved robotically—clearing a plate, wiping a spill, filling a glass. Just something to do with my hands.

William caught my arm gently as I passed by the kitchen doorway.

"Hey. You okay?" The way he asked didn't demand a lie.

I nodded, out of habit. Then shrugged, because maybe I wasn't sure.

He stepped closer, voice soft, eyes searching. "You don't have to answer that. But...can I say something without you flinching?"

I swallowed hard."Go ahead."

He glanced toward the dining room. Marcus was laughing at something Dan said, his hand resting protectively behind Lillie's chair. Like a picture-perfect older brother. Like he hadn't shattered something inside me last night.

William leaned against the kitchen counter, voice barely audible.

"You know how he keep saying you belong to him." he said, I stiffened at the words that are embossed in my head. I nodded. He held up his hands, careful.

"But Myra... he belongs to you, too. You just don't see it."

My heart faltered.

"What are you talking about?" I whispered.

"He watches you like he's drowning. Like he's terrified of losing something that's already slipping. That anger? That control? That's fear in disguise. You don't just orbit him. He revolves around you. And whether you believe it or not... that gives you more power than you think."

I stared at him, breath caught in my chest. No one had ever said it like that. No one had ever dared to.

"He doesn't act like I matter."

"Not true," William said, quiet but sure. "He acts like you matter too much. That's the problem."

A silence fell between us.

Something in my chest shifted—like a string had been loosened, or pulled tight. I wasn't sure which.

William smiled faintly.

"Just... don't forget that. Even if it's hard. Especially when it's hard."

He started to turn away, but I caught his sleeve.

"Why are you telling me this?"

He looked back at me. A flicker of pain in his eyes.

"Because someone should."

The bleachers roared like thunder under cheap stadium lights. Students in school colors stomped, screamed, and chanted. The scent of popcorn, sweat, and muddy grass hung thick in the air.

Coach was pacing the sidelines, barking plays through clenched teeth. The cheerleaders had gone from upbeat chants to nervous murmurs. Jess was leading the squad quite well. On the field, they were bone-tired, bruised, and breathing like steam engines.

The scoreboard blinked: 24 – 24.
43 seconds left.

The ball sat at the 35-yard line. Rain had turned the field into churned mud. Every breath came out as smoke. Pads were slick, jerseys caked in dirt.

Dan stood in the huddle, chest heaving. His fingers twitched against the laces of his gloves. Marcus, taller, more commanding—eyes cold and laser-focused—barked out the next play.