Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I haven’t seen them in a very long time.
My heart seizes.
I stiffen, my breath catching in my throat when their gazes meet mine. Janette’s lips tremble and Peter’s hands are clenched at his sides. Chief’s voice rumbles again, telling them to get the fuck off his property.
“Please,” Janette murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “We want to speak with her.”
“Your son fucked up her life,” Chief snaps, voice low and threatening. “Don’t you dare step inside and make it worse.”
Peter swallows. His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “We aren’t here to ruin it, please, Caden.”
Chief’s jaw tightens. “That’s my daughter, Janette. She doesn’t need this.”
“It’s okay,” I say, my voice small but firm.
Blood drums in my ears as I step down the stairs. My legs wobble. Chief spins, eyes blazing with concern. “Mischief, you don’t have to do this.”
“I do,” I answer, my tone quiet but unwavering.
Travis descends the steps beside me. He stares at Janette and Peter, his gaze hard. “Why are you here?”
Janette hesitates but straightens her shoulders. “We wanted to talk with her. It won’t take a moment.”
“Whatever you have to say, she doesn’t want to hear,” he barks. “She doesn’t need that guilt shoved into her heart again.”
“We’re not here for that,” Janette explains.
I press my hand against his arm. “It’s okay,” I whisper.
He turns, staring at me, confusion flickering. “Mischief...”
“It’s okay,” I repeat. “Let them talk.”
Chief casts an angry glance between me and the visitors, then reluctantly turns and follows Travis back up the porch steps. The wooden boards creak beneath their weight as they stand, not leaving, but giving us enough space. I turn, knees trembling, and watch Janette and Peter step forward.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice rough and unsteady.
Janette takes a deep breath and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Peter shifts, clenching and unclenching his fists. He sighs, heavy with regret. “We wanted to talk to you, we have for a long time but... it isn’t easy.”
“What do you want to say?”
Janette rubs her hands over her upper arms. “We know what Jeremy did to you,” she says quietly, voice tinged with shame. “For the first year, we hated you for it. We blamed you for him taking his own life.”
My throat tightens. I keep my face still, though my heart hammers against my ribs. I dare not let tears fall.
“Then,” she continues, voice raw, “we started seeking help. We went to therapy and support groups. We realized some things—we had to face the truth about our son. I had to come and speak to you, Violet, because I know what you’ve lived with, and I believe we’re the only ones who can ease some of your pain.”
Anger swells in my chest. “I don’t expect your pity,” I say, heat in my voice. “What happened to Lillian was my fault and I have always taken that guilt, I always will.”
Peter’s face tightens. He leans forward, voice full of regret. “No. It wasn’t.” He takes a steadying breath, fighting every emotion on his face. “When Lillian died, I was a raw, irrational parent speaking. I was grieving, and I needed someone to blame. Violet, what happened with Lillian wasn’t your fault. Yes, you teased her, but friends tease each other all the time. She chose to take it further. What happened was a tragic accident between two kids.”
A stray tear escapes down my cheek. I swallow, taste salt on my lips. Janette reaches toward me, but stops short, keeping her distance as she gathers courage. “And we want you to know, we don’t blame you. How could we? It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. Jeremy struggled long before Lillian died. We denied it. We tried to find a cause, someone or something to blame for his actions. But the truth is, Jeremy always had problems. Before the accident, we took him to more therapists than I can count. You were an excuse, a focal point for his pain.”
My chest tightens so hard it hurts. I press my hands to my face, covering my eyes, the world dissolving into tears I can’t seem to keep in. Goddamn pregnancy hormones. My shoulders shake. Janette steps up now, her arm wrapping around my shoulders in a gesture of unexpected tenderness. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I know what you have carried. It isn’t your fault, Violet. You were never the one who hurt Lillian.”
I can’t breathe.
My ribcage rattles as sobs tear from my chest. My face is soaked. Janette’s hand moves in slow circles along my back, her tears falling onto my hair. Suddenly Chief’s presence is at my side, his voice a whip. “What did you say to her?”
Janette straightens, voice trembling. “I said we don’t blame her. She wasn’t at fault.”
My chest loosens with each ragged breath. Minutes stretch on, then hours it seems, until at last I manage a raspy whisper, “I’m okay.” My voice is thick, but genuine. My tears have slowed. I lift my head, gaze meeting Janette’s and Peter’s, and in that moment, I feel something shift deep inside me—like a door has opened that I thought permanently sealed. It isn’t relief from my pain, but a small space for forgiveness, a crack in my heart where hope can finally creep in.