When I look at him, my chest throbs like it’s going to collapse. I’ve already told him I can’t take this; he can see how much it kills me. Why does he have to push?

When I say nothing, his face twists and his hands fall away from me.

“I see.” His voice is strangled. “I suppose that means we’re done, then.”

The finality of his words makes my knees buckle. But I can’t seem to move my mouth. To ask him to stay with me. To give me more time.

His pained gaze lingers on me for a long second. Then he walks away.

We’re over.

When I’m certain that my legs won’t fall out from under me, I stumble along the back way, turn the corner at the last food truck in the row, and stop dead in my tracks. A dozen people stand with their phones pointed at me. I have no idea how long they’ve been standing there recording my and Callum’s blowout, but even if they just caught that last little bit, they’ve captured a gold mine.

I blink and register Callum scowling at our audience.

“Fuck off,” he booms.

The crowd disperses like cockroaches scattering at a beam of light. The damage is done though. That will be uploaded to countless blogs in no time. We’ll be island gossip for sure. Who knows the effect it will have on the rest of today.

I head back to the truck and grab the nearest pair of tongs. It’s a minute before I even notice Mom standing perfectly still in front of me, not moving.

“Anak.” Her voice is even, calm. It’s not the uplifting tone it normally is, and it’s so damn unnerving.

I ignore the ache in my chest, the burn in my eyes, and focus on the scene in front of me: people standing at our truck, waiting to order food. Like a robot, I take their orders.

“Anak,” she repeats, her voice softer this time. “I heard shouting behind the truck. What was all that about?”

“Nothing.” I don’t bother to look up. My gaze is fixed on cash-filled hands outstretched at the counter. I have orders to take, food to prepare, a festival full of people to serve. There is no room for anything else.

“Nikki, I think you should—”

“Not now, Mom.” My tone is so hard, the customer in front of me flinches.

The sound of her defeated sigh hits my ears. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her walk back to the fryer.