Chapter 19 #2
I typed back quickly: Tell Levi I'll keep that in mind. And thank you.
The response came almost immediately: Always. Have a good day.
Wednesday. Dinner with the pack. Twenty-four hours ago, that had been the scariest thing I could imagine. Now, with Trinity's threat sitting on my kitchen table, it felt almost comforting. At least with the pack, I knew what I was walking into. At least they were direct about their intentions.
The sound of a car on my road made me jump, but it was Viola's sedan, arriving exactly when she'd said she would. I unlocked the door and stepped onto the porch as she parked and climbed out, her expression fierce and protective in a way that made my throat tight.
"Show me," she said without hesitation, climbing the steps. She looked like she was on a mission…and I guess in a way she was. I led her inside, pointing to the box on the table. She moved closer, examining the dead plant and the note without touching either, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
"This is harassment," she said flatly, her lip curling as a small growl left her. "This is someone trying to intimidate you into backing off from the guys.."
"I know." I stood near the counter, my arms wrapped around myself again. . "But I can't prove it was Trinity. There's no return address, no signature, nothing that connects it to her directly."
"We know it was her." Viola pulled out her phone, taking photos of the box, the plant, the note from several angles. "And they need to know about this."
"No." The word came out sharper than I'd intended. "I don't want to bother them with this. They're already dealing with enough because of me—the gossip, the drama at the market. I don't want to add more problems."
Viola turned to look at me, her expression softening slightly. "Daphne, this isn't adding problems. This is someone threatening you because they think you're a threat to what they want. They have a right to know that."
"They'll feel responsible." I moved to the window, looking out at my garden—my safe space, my sanctuary, now tainted by the knowledge that someone had deliberately tried to scare me here.
"They'll feel like they need to fix it or protect me, and I don't want that.
I don't want to be someone who needs protecting. "
"Wanting support isn't the same as needing protection," Viola said gently, coming to stand beside me. "And I hate to break it to you, but you called me for help. That's progress, even if you're not ready to call them yet."
I let out a shaky breath, a small smile on my face as I looked at her. "I called you because yesterday you said we were friends. And because I didn't want to be alone with... with this."
"Good." Viola squeezed my shoulder, her smile lighting up her face, "That's exactly what you should have done. But Daphne, Trinity sent this because she sees you as a threat to her plans with the guys. That makes it pack business, whether you want it to be or not."
I knew she was right. Logically, rationally, I knew that keeping this from Garrett and the others was a bad idea. But the thought of adding more drama, more complications, more reasons for them to reconsider whether I was worth all this effort—it made my stomach twist with anxiety.
"What if this makes them realize I'm too much trouble?" I whispered. "What if they decide that dealing with Trinity's jealousy and harassment isn't worth it for someone as difficult as me?"
Viola was quiet for a moment, then she took my hand and led me back to the table, making us both sit down—away from the box and its ugly contents.
"Okay, I need you to really hear what I'm about to say," she started, her voice firm but kind as she looked at me.
"If the pack decides you're too much trouble because someone else is harassing you—something that is completely not your fault—then they're not worth your time anyway.
But I don't think that's going to happen. "
"You don't know that." I argued back, biting my lip as I tried to push the uncertainty away. I didn’t know them too well, so in my mind it was a real possibility.
"I know what I've seen and heard. I know that Garrett has been asking about you around town.
That Levi lights up when he talks about your baking advice.
That Oliver made it very clear at the market that they weren't interested in Trinity and haven't wavered on that position.
" She squeezed my hand. "These aren't people who are going to abandon you because someone else is being a problem. "
"But—"
"But nothing. You need to stop assuming the worst about people who've given you no reason to doubt them.
" Viola's expression turned more serious.
"I get it, Daphne. I really do. You've been hurt before, and your brain is trying to protect you by predicting all the ways this could go wrong.
But you can't build a relationship—any kind of relationship—on the assumption that the other person is going to leave.
At some point, you have to take the leap and trust."
I pulled my hand back, wrapping both arms around myself. "That's easy for you to say. You haven't—" I stopped, realizing I was about to be unfair.
"Haven't what? Been abandoned? Been hurt?" Viola's laugh was bitter that it took me by surprise. "Daphne, I've got my own scars. We all do. The difference is I decided that those scars don't get to write my future. And neither should yours."
We sat in silence for a moment, the dead plant on the table between us like a physical manifestation of all my fears. Someone out there wanted me gone, wanted me to disappear back into my isolation where I couldn't threaten their plans or their desires.
"I'll tell them," I said finally, my voice small. "When I go for dinner tomorrow. I'll tell them about this."
"Good." Viola stood, pulling out her phone again.
"But I'm also going to let Lynn know what happened.
Not to gossip," she added quickly when she saw my expression, "but because Lynn knows everyone and everything in this town.
If Trinity is escalating, the community should know.
People can keep an eye out, make sure you're safe. "
"I don't need the whole town—"
"You have the whole town whether you want them or not," Viola interrupted gently. "You've been part of this community for five years, Daphne. People care about you, even if you've kept them at a distance. Let them care. Let them help."
I wanted to argue, to insist I could handle this myself, to retreat back into the comfortable isolation where I didn't have to depend on anyone.
But looking at Viola, at this woman who'd shown up when I called, who was taking photos and making plans and refusing to let me face this alone—I realized that maybe that was the point.
Maybe I didn't have to handle everything alone anymore.
"Okay," I whispered, though not fully convinced. "But can we... can we get that box out of my house? I don't want to look at it anymore."
"Absolutely." Viola grabbed some dish gloves from under my sink and carefully placed everything back in the box, sealing it up. "I'll take this with me. Evidence, in case we need it. And Daphne? You should consider filing a police report."
"For a dead plant?" I asked skeptically as I frowned, shifting in unease.
"For harassment and intimidation. This is a threat, even if it's not a direct one. Start a paper trail now, just in case things escalate further." She carried the box toward the door, then paused. "Do you want me to stay for a bit? I don't have to be at work until this evening."
The offer was tempting—the house felt too empty now, too vulnerable. But I also needed time to process, to settle myself back into some semblance of calm.
"I'll be okay," I said, trying to sound more certain than I felt. "But thank you. For coming. For... for being here."
"That's what friends do." Viola smiled, then her expression turned more serious. "Text me throughout the day, okay? Just so I know you're alright. And if anything else happens—anything at all—you call me immediately."
"I will." And I meant it. The realization that I had someone to call, someone who would show up without hesitation, felt both terrifying and comforting in equal measure.
After Viola left, I stood in my kitchen for a long moment, trying to reconcile the calm morning I'd planned with the reality of what had just happened.
The dead plant was gone, but the message lingered—someone wanted me gone and a part of me wanted to listen.
Wanted to text Garrett and the others and tell them tomorrow was a mistake, that I couldn't do this, that I was too much trouble and they should find someone easier.
But another part—the part that had survived my mother's abandonment and Margaret and Tom's death and five years of self-imposed isolation—that part was angry. Who was Trinity to tell me where I belonged? Who was she to decide what I deserved or didn't deserve?
I pulled out my phone and opened my messages, looking at the texts from this morning. Garrett's gentle check-in. Levi's enthusiasm about baking. Micah's reminder that I was taking things one step at a time. Viola's offer of friendship.
These people were choosing to be in my life.
Not because they had to, not because I'd manipulated or trapped them, but because they wanted to be.
And I was choosing to let them in, slowly and carefully, because the alternative—the isolation, the loneliness, the slow suffocation of a life lived entirely alone—was its own kind of death.
Trinity could send all the dead plants she wanted. I wasn't going anywhere.
I opened a new message to Oliver , my fingers hovering over the keyboard. He was the head alpha so it felt right to message him about this before the others.
After a moment, I started typing.
Something happened this morning. Nothing dangerous, but I need to talk to you and the others about it tomorrow. Is that okay?
His response came quickly: Of course. Whatever you need. Are you alright? I can come over or one of the others as well.
I typed a quick response: I'm okay. Viola came over and helped. I'll explain everything tomorrow.
Oliver: Okay. But Daphne, if you need anything before then..anything at all..call me. I mean that.
I stared at the message, at this Alpha who kept offering help without demanding anything in return. Who kept showing up, kept being patient, kept giving me choices instead of ultimatums.
I typed a response, a faint smile coming to the corners of my lips: I know. Thank you.
I set the phone down and looked around my kitchen, my sanctuary that suddenly felt less secure than it had this morning. But it was still mine. This life was still mine. And I wasn't going to let someone else's jealousy or threats take that away.
I had weeding to do. Herbs to harvest. A greenhouse to repair. Normal, predictable tasks that would ground me, remind me that I was still here, still standing, still capable.
Tomorrow I would walk into that pack house and tell them about Trinity's escalation. Tomorrow I would take another step forward, despite the fear, despite the threats, despite all the voices in my head telling me to run.
But today? Today I would tend my garden and remember why I'd built this life in the first place.
Not to hide from the world, but to create something beautiful in spite of it.
I got dressed, pulled on my work boots, and headed outside, letting the morning sun warm my face.
The garden looked the same as always—green and growing, patient and alive.
Whatever Trinity sent, whatever threats she made, this remained. My work, my skill, my strength.
And tomorrow, I'd show the pack that I had enough of all three to face whatever came next.
One step at a time.
Just like everyone kept telling me. And for the first time, I was actually starting to believe it.