Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Daphne
Tuesday morning came with soft sunlight filtering through my bedroom curtains and the sound of birds welcoming the new day.
For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my body reluctant to move after yesterday's emotional marathon.
Three visitors. Three intense conversations.
Three cracks in the walls I'd spent five years building.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling me from my thoughts. Then it buzzed again. And again. I reached for it, squinting at the bright screen, and felt my heart do that stupid flutter thing when I saw the notifications.
Garrett: Good morning. Hope you slept well. No pressure to respond, just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you.
Levi: Morning! Garrett said the cinnamon rolls made it to you. Let me know if they're any good or if I need to keep practicing. Also, thanks again for the sourdough advice. You're a lifesaver.
Micah: Hope yesterday wasn't too overwhelming. Remember, Wednesday is just dinner. One step at a time.
I stared at the messages, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Three messages from three different Alphas, all checking in without demanding anything in return. It felt surreal, like I'd woken up in someone else's life.
Before I could spiral into overthinking, another message came through.
Viola: Hey! Just wanted to check in. How are you feeling after yesterday? Remember, you can call or text anytime. That's what friends do.
Something in my chest loosened at that last message. Friends. Viola had said it so simply, like it was already a fact rather than something I needed to earn or maintain through perfect behavior.
I took a deep breath and started typing responses, keeping them brief but genuine.
To Garrett: Slept okay. Thank you for dinner last night.
To Levi: The cinnamon rolls are amazing. Way better than anything I could make.
To Micah: It was a lot, but I'm okay. See you Wednesday.
To Viola: I'm good. Thank you for checking in. And for yesterday.
I hit send on all of them before I could second-guess myself, then immediately felt anxious. Were they too short? Too formal? Was I supposed to add more, make them warmer?
My phone buzzed almost immediately with responses, but I set it aside, needing to move, to do something with the nervous energy suddenly flooding my system. Coffee. I needed coffee.
I padded into the kitchen in my pajamas—old cotton pants and a faded t-shirt that had seen better days—and started the familiar morning routine. Grind the beans, boil the water, wait for the magic to happen. The ritual was soothing, grounding me in the present moment.
While the coffee brewed, I grabbed one of Levi's cinnamon rolls from where I'd left them wrapped on the counter.
They were still good, even after sitting overnight, the icing sweet and the bread soft.
I ate it standing at the kitchen window, looking out at my garden as the morning light made everything glow from the morning dew.
This was supposed to be a simple day. A calm day.
After yesterday's emotional intensity, I needed quiet and routine.
I had weeding to do, some herbs to harvest and dry, and a few repairs on the greenhouse that I'd been putting off.
Normal, predictable tasks that wouldn't require me to examine my feelings or make any life-changing decisions.
I poured my coffee and was heading to the porch when I heard a vehicle coming down the road.
My shoulders tensed automatically—not again.
I couldn't handle any visitors today. But as the sound grew closer, I realized it wasn't any of the familiar engines I'd learned to recognize.
This was lighter, different. A delivery truck?
I set down my coffee and moved to the front door, arriving just as a courier van pulled up. A young man hopped out, carrying a medium-sized box, and gave me a friendly wave.
"Delivery for Daphne?" he called with a friendly smile on his face.
I stepped onto the porch, confused. "That's me, but I didn't order anything."
"Says here it's a gift. No return address though." He brought it up the steps and handed it over, along with a tablet for me to sign. "Someone must really like you."
I signed quickly, my stomach doing an uncomfortable twist. The box was surprisingly light, wrapped in plain brown paper with just my name written on it in unfamiliar handwriting. No return address, no indication of who it was from.
"Thanks," I managed, and the courier gave another wave before heading back to his van.
I carried the box inside, setting it on my kitchen table and staring at it like it might explode.
Who would send me something? The pack? But surely they would have included some kind of note or indication it was from them.
Viola? Same issue—she would have said something.
My phone buzzed again.
Garrett: You're welcome. Looking forward to Wednesday. Try to have a relaxing day today.
I set the phone down and turned my attention back to the mysterious box. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe it was from a customer at the market, someone thanking me for good produce or advice. That happened occasionally, though usually in person rather than through mysterious deliveries.
I grabbed a knife from the drawer and carefully cut through the tape, opening the flaps to peer inside. At first, I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing—tissue paper, something dark underneath. I pushed the paper aside and froze.
A dead plant. Withered, blackened, clearly killed with some kind of chemical or deliberate neglect. And beneath it, a note in the same handwriting from the box.
"Some things aren't meant to grow. Know your place."
My hands started shaking. I dropped the note like it had burned me, backing away from the table. The message was clear—someone wanted me gone, wanted me to back away from... what? The pack? My business? My life here?
Trinity. It had to be Trinity. Who else would send something like this? Who else had made it clear they saw me as a threat?
I stood in my kitchen, my heart pounding, staring at the dead plant on my table like it was a snake coiled to strike. This was a threat. Veiled, but unmistakable. Someone had taken the time to kill a plant, package it up, and send it to my home with a message designed to intimidate me.
And it was working.
I could feel my walls slamming back into place, my instinct to retreat screaming at me to pack up and disappear before things got worse. This was exactly why I didn't let people in, why I kept my distance, why I—
My phone buzzed again, and I grabbed it without thinking, desperate for any distraction from the panic building in my chest.
Viola: Seriously, call me if you need anything. I mean it.
I stared at the message, at this woman who'd sat at my table yesterday and called herself my friend. Who'd held up a mirror and made me see how isolated I'd become. Who'd offered connection without conditions.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit the call button.
She answered on the second ring. "Daphne? Everything okay?"
"I—" My voice cracked, and I had to swallow hard before trying again. "Something happened. I got a delivery."
"What kind of delivery?" Viola's voice immediately shifted from casual to alert.
I looked at the dead plant, at the note lying on my table like an accusation. "A threat, I think. A dead plant and a note telling me to know my place. It's... it's not signed, but I'm pretty sure I know who sent it."
"Trinity." Viola said it like a curse. "That absolute—where are you right now? Are you home?"
"Yeah, I'm in my kitchen. I'm okay, just..." I wrapped my free arm around myself as if trying to keep myself together. "Shaken up."
"I'm coming over." The sound of keys jangling came through the phone. "Give me twenty minutes. Don't touch anything else in that box, okay? And Daphne? Lock your doors."
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. That's what friends do, remember? We show up." Her voice softened slightly and I could hear her moving around and then the sound of low murmurs from two other voices. "I'll be there soon. Just... sit tight."
She hung up before I could argue, and I was left standing in my kitchen with a dead plant on my table and the realization that I'd just called someone for help. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. Because I was scared and didn't want to be alone with that fear.
I did lock the doors, then made myself another cup of coffee with shaking hands.
The rational part of my brain knew I was probably overreacting—it was a dead plant and a nasty note, not an actual physical threat.
But the part that remembered my mother's bitterness, that remembered being left behind again and again, that part was screaming that this was just the beginning.
Trinity had made a scene at the market. Now she was escalating. What would come next?
I forced myself to sit at the table, as far from the box as possible, and tried to calm my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth, just like Margaret had taught me during my panic attacks in those first months after she and Tom adopted me.
This is just fear. Fear can't actually hurt you. You're safe in your home…but I didn't feel safe. I felt exposed, vulnerable, like someone had reached into my carefully constructed sanctuary and left a mark I couldn't ignore.
My phone buzzed with another message, and I almost didn't look. But curiosity won out.
Garrett: Also, Levi wanted me to tell you that if you have any suggestions about bread or baking or literally anything else you want to teach him or talk about to message him. I think he just likes to talk about it with someone who knows what he is saying.
Despite everything—the dead plant, the threat, the fear coiling in my stomach—I felt a small, surprised laugh escape. The normalcy of the message, the casual humor, the reminder that not everything in my life right now was threatening or complicated.