Chapter 11 A First Second Chance #2
Her tone is almost pleading, and it wrecks me. How terrifying must it be to doubt your own instincts when you can’t even remember forming them? To feel something deeply but have no proof that it ever existed?
Silence stretches inside the room for too long.
My stomach dips sharply. Why aren’t they answering? Why isn’t anyone saying she trusted me? Or did she not?
Daisy speaks, and the softness nearly undoes me. “Vi, you trust almost everyone. That’s just who you are. You had no doubts about Night—or Rowan, now. We were the ones who kept warning you that things were moving too fast between you two. But I don’t think you ever once felt so.”
I just… stop for a beat.
“That’s how I still feel about him,” Violet whispers.
“But that was before—” Elodie starts.
I knock. I don’t interrupt out of fear or anger, neither to shut Elodie down.
As much as her distrust grates on me, I can’t ignore how fiercely she loves and guards Violet.
But I’ve reached the door, and this conversation, about trust, doubt, and me, is not something I should overhear. I’ve trespassed enough.
When I step inside, every gaze turns toward me. I don’t pretend I haven’t heard anything, but I don’t acknowledge it either. I won’t make this harder on Violet by forcing explanations she doesn’t owe me.
I place the handbag beside her on the bed. Luckily, it looks untouched by the violence of the accident—just faint smudges of dirt, which can be easily washed.
Violet’s fingers immediately drift to the dangling butterflies, brushing the threads as if she’s trying to ignite some memory.
“It’s actually your favorite.” Willow steps forward with a small smile. “You made us stay up all night weaving these. All fifty-eight of these butterflies are handmade.”
“And then Elodie stitched them onto the bag you found at a thrift store,” Daisy adds.
Violet’s fingers trace the pink and purple feathers, the tiny wooden rings, the delicate stitching against the blue fabric dotted with little flowers.
Her eyes lift to Elodie. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“You make us do a lot of unbelievable things.” Willow settles onto the edge of the bed beside her.
Since the accident, out of all her friends, Willow is the one who’s acting most natural around Violet.
Daisy hovers too carefully, like she’s waiting for Violet to fall apart any minute.
Elodie’s protectiveness gives me painful flashbacks of Mom, when Archer and I were kids and sick.
“Thank you,” Violet says softly. “For now and for all the times in the past.”
“You never have to thank us. We love you too much.”
Before Elodie can say anything else, there’s a knock at the door.
Dr. Weiss enters with two colleagues in tow, and they stop near Violet’s feet. “How are you feeling today?”
She glances down at the sling swallowing her arm, then lifts one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “Okay, I guess.”
The word feels inadequate for everything she’s carrying inside her. Nobody would complain if she chose to express not being fine or okay.
Dr. Weiss seems to have the same opinion, as his professional smile eases into something more human.
“Physically,” he says, “you’re recovering very well.
Your vitals are stable, your pain seems to be under control, and there are no neurological red flags at the moment.
That means you don’t need to remain hospitalized. ”
Violet’s eyes widen instantly. “I can leave?”
“Yes. Your arm fracture was repaired successfully. You’ll remain in a sling for several more weeks to protect the surgical repair, and we’ll begin physical therapy after that to gradually restore strength and range of motion.
I’ll see you again in a week to check the incision and ensure proper healing.
” He pauses, then adds, “From a medical standpoint, you’re safe to be discharged. ”
“But…” Panic threads through Violet’s voice. “I don’t even remember—”
“I know it’s frightening,” he interrupts gently, stepping closer and lowering himself slightly so he’s at her eye level.
“But the good news is that your imaging is clear. There’s no bleeding, no swelling, no structural damage to the brain.
The concussion you sustained was mild. It gives us reason to be hopeful. ”
Hope. But that word feels faint right now.
“Right now, your brain needs rest and reassurance. Hospitals are necessary for acute care, but they’re not ideal environments for cognitive or emotional recovery. Familiar surroundings, predictable routines, and supportive people can make a real difference.”
Violet swallows. “So… home?”
“Yes. Even if you don’t recognize it yet.
” He straightens slightly, his tone shifting to clear instruction.
“For the next few weeks, I’d advise you to avoid overstimulation—no loud noises, crowded spaces, or intense emotional stress.
You may experience headaches, fatigue, difficulty concentrating, or moments of disorientation.
All of that is common after both a concussion and acute trauma. ”
Violet’s breath hitches.
“Try to keep a simple routine,” he adds. “Structure helps the brain feel safe while it heals. I strongly recommend that you have someone stay with you right now. Staying with a trusted friend or loved one can help reduce anxiety and provide support while you regain confidence in daily life.”
When he finally steps back, the room seems suddenly full of things no one knows how to address.
“Home?” Violet whispers, her voice barely holding together. Her chin dips. “I don’t even know where home is.”
My chest breaks cleanly in two. I have this overwhelming urge to pull her close, wrap her up in layers of warmth and safety like a human burrito.
“I know home feels like a foreign thing right now,” Daisy says softly. “But you inherited a beautiful cottage from your grandparents, Violet.”
Violet’s fingers tighten around the bag in her lap, knuckles turning white. It must be overwhelming to be told you have a life, a home, a past, and not be able to feel any of it.
“I think Dr. Weiss is right,” Willow admits. “You should stay with one of us. The guest wing at Raymond’s place is empty. You’d have your own space and privacy.”
Fuck that. The impulse to scream claws up my throat at the thought of Violet in my cousin’s house.
She doesn’t belong there.
“Charles and I would also love to have you,” Daisy adds quickly. “You could stay with us as long as you want and play with Penny. I must warn you, time flies with a baby.”
I know Daisy means well, but time flying seems to be the last thing Violet needs right now. Wouldn’t she want every moment to go slowly so she can savor it as much as possible?
Elodie steps in next. “Or you can stay with me. My guest room’s empty. You’ve always loved my place for its closeness to the city center and the colorful shops.” Elodie finishes with a smile while my heart pounds.
If Violet loves the chaos of the city, would she like the wilderness of my cabin?
Violet’s overwhelmed gaze moves between them before finally landing on me.
I’m standing near the door, every instinct screaming to say choose me even though I don’t know if I’m even allowed to make that offer.
“Did we… make any plans about where we’d live? You know, after we get engaged?”
Violet’s question catches me off guard.
When I told her about her grandmother’s ring, I hadn’t meant to imply that there were promises already etched into stone. There was no quiet agreement scribbled between us. I only wanted her to know that what we had wasn’t casual or fleeting, even if she couldn’t remember.
Yet every time she says after we get engaged, so naturally, like it was always inevitable, warmth blooms through me.
I should correct her. I should ground us in facts.
But she’s holding on to the idea of our engagement the same way someone clings to railing in a storm.
Suddenly, I don’t know what’s worse—letting her believe something that isn’t entirely true, as it gives her hope when everything else around her has shattered, or taking it away and watching her lose the thin sense of safety she’s trying to weave around herself.
And that’s not even the most terrifying part.
I don’t know if my hesitation comes from wanting to protect her… or from how badly I want that future to be real.
When I don’t answer right away, Violet lifts her hand toward me.
It takes me a second to understand she’s asking for my phone, waiting patiently for my response.
This is one of the rare moments I don’t resent the pauses my silence builds into conversations.
The delay gives me time to choose truth over panic, honesty over fear.
I move closer to her bed and slip my phone out of my pocket. My hands betray me, trembling slightly as I type. This answer matters more than most things I’ve ever said, spoken or not.
We were willing to do whatever it took to make this work. We didn’t know we were both in Cherrywood, but I was ready to move to wherever you were, and you were ready to do the same. We decided we’d figure it out when the time came.
She reads slowly, like she’s afraid the words might disappear if she rushes them. Then she looks up at me.
“You were ready to leave your town, where your twin brother lives? Where your family is?”
I nod. There’s no hesitation in me about this, not now, not ever.
If she’d been halfway across the world, I would’ve followed.
Our gazes lock, and for a moment I want to give her everything she’s silently asking for—reassurance, safety, permanence—all of it wrapped up in a solid and unbreakable promise.
Elodie clears her throat behind me. “I don’t mean to offend anyone,” she says, already proving she will. “But right now, you’re the only one who knows what you and Violet planned. Things aren’t the same anymore, and I just want Vi to be careful.”
Irritation sparks first, hot and instinctive, but it’s quickly followed by respect for Elodie’s protectiveness. I’m grateful Violet is surrounded by real friendship and people who truly care for her.
Instead of arguing, I open the FYS app.
My heart stutters as I scroll, not to the recent messages, not to the place where everything unraveled, but further back, to a snowy evening more than a week ago.
I remember exactly where I was in that moment.
My office. Staring outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the snowflakes turning everything white.
I place the phone in Violet’s hand, and tears slip free from her eyes as she reads the conversation.
“I told you about my friends. I sent you a picture of the ring,” she whispers before handing me the phone back.
Relief floods me as I close the app after confirming that she hasn’t scrolled farther down.
I open the notes app and I type again.
I knew you had friends. I just didn’t know who they were or that I already knew them.
Her smile is stunned. “I can’t believe this.” She hesitates, swallowing hard, then looks up at me from beneath her lashes. “Do you have a guest room?”
I nod immediately.
If I didn’t, I would build the most beautiful guest room for her.
Right now, I’m grateful that my life isn’t grand the way my cousins’ are. I don’t have an ostentatious estate in Cherrywood with a dedicated guest wing. No, I built my quiet life in a cabin, where every room leans toward the next in the same space.
“Is it okay if I stay with you?” she asks carefully. “Just until I find my footing and I’m ready to go back to my grandfather’s house.”
But here’s the thing, I don’t want Violet to stay short term.
This—her—is exactly what I signed up for when I trusted FYS. Not a trial run. Not borrowed time. But a fully shared life.
I’ve created my safe space with care and intention, and the thought of sharing it with Violet, letting it become her safe space too, fills me with a delicate kind of hope. But just as quickly, a fresh knot of worry tightens, and before I can talk myself out of it, I start to type.
My house is in the woods, very close to nature and far from the city. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.
Thankfully, she smiles, genuine and bright. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Vi?” Elodie shakes her head. “You could stay with me. Maybe you’ll have your memories back sooner if you stay in a familiar place.”
Violet’s voice thickens when she answers.
“Elodie, I know you, Daisy, and Willow love me deeply. I feel it in everything you do. But I can’t live trapped by the lost memories I don’t have.
” Her fingers curl into the sheets. “It’s really scary to not know who I am or how I’m supposed to act around people who remember a version of me I can’t access.
I want to move forward or else I fear I’ll be lost in my own body forever. ”
Her searching gaze finds mine again, and I don’t look away. I love how she seeks me out. It’s an unfamiliar feeling for me, to not hate and avoid someone looking at me.
“This thing between Rowan and me”—she pauses, and my heart slams hard against my ribs—“it’s new.
But it was new even for the old me. So even though my heart is fearful, I feel there are fewer broken pieces of my memory in this relationship.
Moving forward with him feels like moving forward in life.
Everything else feels like it’s pulling me backward. ”
“You have a beautiful life, and it’d be a pity to not remember it.” A sad smile pulls on Elodie’s lips.
Violet’s bottom lip trembles. I hate that Elodie’s words are hurting her, but I also know there is undeniable truth in them.
“I’m not trying to not remember,” she says softly.
“I want everything back—every memory, every happiness, every joy. The memories built with people I love. I hate that my mind feels like a blank canvas right now. And until those memories return, I want to live. I want to make new ones instead of constantly missing the lost ones.”