Chapter Thirty-One
The library reopening was in two weeks, and Annabelle had already made seventeen lists.
One for the setup schedule. One for the volunteer assignments. One for the refreshments. One for the children's reading corner decorations. One for the contingency plans if it rained. One for the contingency plans if Mrs. Albright's cat got into the library again (it had happened before).
She'd color-coded them. Cross-referenced them. Laminated the important ones.
If she just kept making lists, kept organizing, kept doing, then she wouldn't have to think about the fact that Raven had been gone for a week and hadn't called.
"Ms. Swift?"”
Annabelle looked up from her clipboard to find Marie standing in front of her desk, holding a picture of what appeared to be a dinosaur eating a rainbow.
"Yes, Marie, darling?"
"Can I show you my drawing?"
"Of course!" Annabelle summoned her brightest smile. "Oh, how wonderful! Is that a Tyrannosaurus Rex?"
"It's eating all the colors because it's sad," Marie explained seriously.
"How very creative." Annabelle handed it back. "Why don't you put it up on our display board?"
Marie skipped away, and Annabelle's smile faded the moment the child turned her back.
A week.
Seven days of waking up and not seeing the lights on in the cottage next door. Seven days of going through the motions, greeting parents, teaching lessons, organizing the library event, all while feeling like someone had scooped out her insides and replaced them with cotton wool.
But she was fine.
Everyone kept asking if she was fine, and she kept saying yes, and if she said it enough times, surely it would become true.
"Annabelle?"
Nina appeared at her elbow, looking concerned. "Are you okay? You've been staring at that clipboard for five minutes."
"Just thinking through the setup schedule." Annabelle forced brightness back into her voice. "Have we confirmed that Arty's bringing the extra shelving units?"
"Yes, three times. You called him yesterday."
"Right. Good." Annabelle made a note anyway. Just to be sure.
The morning crawled by. Literacy lesson. Maths. Break time supervision. Lunch. More lessons. Every moment felt like she was wading through treacle, but she kept her smile fixed and her voice cheerful and nobody seemed to notice that she was barely holding it together.
Until afternoon break time, when she saw Jamie.
He was sitting alone on the bench near the fence, the same bench where Raven used to teach him guitar. His shoulders were hunched, his head down, and even from across the playground, Annabelle could see that he was trying to make himself invisible.
Her heart cracked.
Raven had come so close to making him happy.
Those few weeks of guitar lessons had transformed Jamie from a withdrawn, quiet child into someone who smiled, who engaged, who had something he loved.
And then Raven had left, and Jamie had retreated back into himself, and there was nothing Annabelle could do to fix it.
She started walking toward him, but Nina called out that two Year Fours were fighting over the football, and by the time Annabelle had mediated that crisis, the bell was ringing.
Jamie slipped back inside before she could reach him.
"I’VE JUST POPPED in," Mrs. Long said in the corridor that afternoon, her voice carrying down the hallway. "To discuss the guitar lessons?"
Annabelle froze.
She was in her classroom, helping Marie find her missing reading book (it was in her tray, where it always was), but Kayley Long's voice was unmistakable. Sharp. Precise. The kind of voice that expected answers.
"Ms. Swift is probably in her classroom," Lily was saying diplomatically. "But if you'd like to make an appointment…"
"I don't need an appointment. This will only take a moment."
Annabelle heard footsteps. She considered hiding behind the bookshelf, but that seemed cowardly even for her current state of mind.
"Ms. Swift!" Kayley appeared in the doorway, looking immaculate in pressed trousers and a cashmere jumper. "There you are."
"Mrs. Long." Annabelle straightened, summoning every ounce of professional cheerfulness she possessed. "How can I help you?"
"It's about Jamie's guitar lessons." Kayley stepped into the classroom, arms crossed. "He was promised ongoing instruction, and it's been a week since…"
"I'm aware of how long it's been," Annabelle said.
"Well, he's devastated. He keeps asking when Ms. Raven is coming back, and frankly, I think it's unacceptable that he was promised something that hasn't been delivered."
Something hot and sharp twisted in Annabelle's chest.
"Mrs. Long…"
"I understood that Ms… Raven was here as part of some sort of community engagement," Kayley continued. "But if she's simply abandoned the children she was working with, that reflects rather poorly on the school's judgment in involving her in the first place."
The cotton wool feeling in Annabelle's chest ignited.
"Raven didn't abandon anyone," she heard herself say, her voice sharper than she'd intended.
"She had to return to London for work. She has a career.
A life. She can't just…" The words caught in her throat.
"I have no control over whether someone stays or goes, Mrs. Long.
Neither do you. Sometimes people leave, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. "
Kayley blinked, clearly taken aback. "I hardly think—"
"If Jamie wants to continue guitar lessons, there are instructors in town. I'm happy to provide recommendations." Annabelle's hands were shaking. She gripped her clipboard tighter. "But I can't make Raven come back. I can't fix this. I can't…"
Her voice broke.
Kayley stared at her.
"I should go," Kayley said stiffly. "We'll discuss this another time when you're feeling more... composed."
She swept out.
Annabelle stood in the empty classroom, trembling, staring at the colorful alphabet border on the wall and trying very hard not to cry.
"Annabelle."
She turned. Lily was standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.
"I'm sorry," Annabelle said immediately. "I shouldn't have… I lost my temper. I yelled at a parent. I'll resign. I'll…"
"You're not resigning."
"But I…"
"You're taking tomorrow off," Lily said firmly. "You're going to go home, rest, and stop trying to organize yourself into feeling better."
"The library event…"
"Is completely under control. Nina and I can handle the setup. You need a break."
"I'm fine…"
"Annabelle." Lily's voice was gentle but firm. "You're not fine. And it's okay to not be fine."
The kindness was worse than anger. Annabelle felt tears prickling behind her eyes.
"Come on." Lily walked over and took the clipboard out of Annabelle's hands. "Let's go to my office."
LILY'S OFFICE WAS warm and cozy. Annabelle sat in the chair across from Lily's desk and stared at her hands while Lily made tea.
"Here." Lily handed her a mug. "Drink."
Annabelle obeyed. The tea was too hot and tasted like nothing.
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Do you know why Raven left?" Lily asked finally.
"Her work was done." Annabelle's voice sounded hollow. "She came here to write an album. She found her music again. And now she has a career opportunity in London. A solo deal. She has to…" She stopped. "She had to go."
"Mmm." Lily sipped her own tea. "And did she want to go?"
"I don't…" Annabelle blinked. "I don't know."
"Did you ask her?"
"She said it was time. That this was always temporary."
"That's not what I asked."
Annabelle looked up. Lily was watching her with that wise, patient expression that made Annabelle feel about six years old.
"Perhaps," Lily said carefully, "Raven didn't know what she was leaving."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you've spent the last few weeks trying to be the solution to everyone's problems, including hers. You fixed the fundraiser. You defended her to the press. You organized everything around her so perfectly that maybe she never saw how much she mattered to you."
Annabelle's throat tightened. "I told her…"
"Did you? Or did you smile and say you understood and let her walk away because you were too scared to ask for what you wanted?"
The words hurt.
"You've been so busy trying to be perfect," Lily continued gently, "trying to never be a burden, never need too much, that you never let yourself be vulnerable enough to have needs of your own."
"I just wanted…" Annabelle's voice cracked. "I wanted her to stay because she wanted to, not because I guilted her into it."
"And that's admirable. But Annabelle, love isn't a fairy tale. You can't just expect someone to know what you're thinking or feeling. You have to actually communicate."
"I tried to help."
"You tried to fix the media crisis your way without asking Raven what she needed," Lily said.
"You assumed you knew best. Just like you assumed you knew what was best for Jamie when you brought Raven into his life without asking either of them what they wanted.
Maybe if you'd just been honest about being scared instead of trying to solve everything… "
"I didn't know how," Annabelle whispered.
"I know." Lily's expression softened. "But pretending everything's okay when it's not doesn't protect anyone. It just means everyone's guessing, and usually guessing wrong."
Annabelle stared at her tea. The surface rippled slightly from her trembling hands.
"What am I supposed to do?" she asked finally. "She's gone."
"Tell her how you feel. Actually tell her. Not in some cheerful, understanding way where you give her permission to leave. Tell her honestly that you're not okay with this. That you have feelings. Real ones. Messy ones."
"And then what? She still has to work. She still has her career."
"Maybe. Or maybe she's been making assumptions too." Lily leaned forward. "You can't make her stay, Annabelle. But you can stop pretending you're fine with her leaving."
Annabelle closed her eyes. The thought of writing to Raven, of being that honest, that vulnerable, made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.
But she'd tried being perfect. Tried fixing everything. Tried making it easy for Raven to leave.
And it had got her exactly nowhere.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Okay?"
"I'll tell her. I'll write to her."
"Good." Lily stood. "Now go home. Get some rest. And tomorrow, instead of making lists, write that letter."
THAT EVENING, ANNABELLE sat at her kitchen table with her laptop and a blinking cursor.
She'd started four times already. Each time, she'd got two lines in before the instinct to make it easy, to be understanding, to fix things had taken over and she'd deleted everything.
Dear Raven, I hope you're well in London. I'm so glad the solo opportunity is working out…
No.
Raven, I wanted you to know that I understand why you left…
No.
Hi, I know you're busy but I just wanted to say…
God, no.
She put down the pen and stared at the blank screen.
Stop trying to fix it. Stop trying to be perfect.
Just be honest.
She took a breath.
Raven,
I'm not okay.
Just those three words were enough. Enough to know that she was being honest, open, that she was finally breaking. But she continued anyway.
I keep telling everyone I am, but I'm not. You've been gone a week and I miss you so much I can barely breathe. I see Jamie sitting alone on that bench and my heart breaks because you made him so happy, and now he's lost that, and I can't fix it. I can't fix any of this.
I spent so long trying to be perfect for you. Bringing you biscuits and giving you space and never asking for too much because I was terrified that if I needed anything, you'd realize I wasn't worth staying for. But all I did was make it easy for you to leave.
I should have told you I was scared. I should have told you that when the press showed up, I didn't know what to do and I panicked. I should have asked you what you needed instead of assuming I could fix it. I should have told you that I didn't want you to go.
I don't think we're over. I don't think what we had was just temporary, even though you said it was. I think we could have been something real.
But I can't make you stay. I can't fix this for you. All I can do is tell you the truth: losing you hurts, and I'm not going to pretend it doesn't anymore.
I love you. And I needed to tell you that, even if it doesn't change anything.
Annabelle
She stared at the letter for a long time. Every instinct screamed at her to rewrite it, to soften it, to add something at the end about understanding Raven's career or wishing her well.
But she didn't.
Instead, she pressed the send icon. One click and it was done.
She'd done it. She'd been honest. Messy. Vulnerable.
And now all she could do was wait.