Chapter 39
It had been a week since I’d found my meadow.
A week since my family's lawyer sat in my parents’ kitchen, coffee in hand, and told me the Crown was moving forward. Trial. Charges. Testimony. A future where I might have to stand in front of strangers and peel open every wound, while facing Andrew.
My parents had been walking on eggshells ever since. My dad with that deep crease between his brows, my mom hovering too close, and Clara pretending she wasn’t watching me from the corner of every room.
And then there was Victoria.
Apparently, she’d heard about the trial moving forward while buying groceries, and the story had spread faster than the snow plow rumour mill.
She’d screamed in the aisle, cursed my name, and hurled a basket full of produce at the floor.
By the next morning, the whispers weren’t about me so much as about her, but somehow that didn’t make it easier.
Andrew hadn’t been seen at all. Not at the pharmacy, not at the gym, not even at his son's school for pick-ups or drop-offs. He seemed to have disappeared or was in hiding. And yet, I still felt him everywhere.
So, I baked.
The kitchen was warm with cinnamon and yeast. Jackson perched on a chair beside me like my cute little sous chef.
He had chocolate smudged across his cheek and marker stains on his fingers from his earlier art project.
The counter was chaos, flour dusting every surface, cookies cooling near the window, bread rising under a towel.
“Okay, Auntie Cass,” Jackson said seriously, pressing a fork into the pie crust with his little hand. “If we open a bakery, we have to have free samples. That’s how you get the customers hooked.”
I smiled, brushing flour from his hair. “Clearly, you’ve been hanging around your dad too much.”
He grinned, missing tooth and all, and leaned closer. “We’ll call it Auntie Cass’s Bakery. And my job will be… tasting.”
“You’d be excellent at that. Is that how you help your mommy at the cafe?
” I slid the loaf pan into the oven and turned to watch him lick chocolate from his finger while nodding, his blonde mess of hair flopping over his forehead.
The joy radiating off him was such a balm that it made something in me heal.
Mom set another dish on the counter, Clara trailing after her with a dish towel. She shook her head at the flour explosion, but there was a soft smile tugging at her mouth.
“You’ll clean this up, right?” Clara said, arching a brow at me.
“Yes, yes... I know the drill.”
Jackson shot his fist in the air, triumphant. “Yes! That means I get an Auntie Cass bubble bath after!”
Mom laughed, shaking her head, and for a flicker of a moment, it felt like we were a family untouched by whispers.
Judy met me at the door with a hug that smelled of cinnamon and fabric softener, Dean with a grin that was pure warmth. Their home buzzed with comfort, roast chicken, and something simmering on the stove; you could feel the love that had been steeped deep within this home.
“Come in, sweetheart,” Judy said, taking the pie and bread. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“I wanted to,” I admitted. “It felt… right.”
Dean chuckled. “Well, your family always did know how to win people over with food.”
We sat at the long oak table, candles flickering, plates filling fast. They asked about my parents, about Clara and Jackson, about what my future plans looked like. Their questions weren’t sharp or invasive; they were just… curious. Genuine.
And somehow, that made it easier to tell them.
“I’ve been walking a lot,” I said, my fork pushing potatoes around my plate.
“Last week, I wandered farther than usual and found this stretch of land between our properties. A meadow, almost hidden. And I don’t know how to explain it, but…
I felt at peace there. Like I could build something.
Like I could breathe again. I saw a for-sale sign buried beneath some overgrown shrubs. Brody mentioned it was yours.”
Judy tilted her head. “That land?”
Dean chuckled. “I’d forgotten we even had the sign up. Meant to keep it in case Adam or Brody wanted it one day.”
My heart stuttered. “So you aren't selling it?”
“It’s ours,” Dean said, “but it could be yours. You’re as close to family as anyone, Cassidy. We’d be glad to see you there.”
I blinked fast, the sting of tears rising. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Judy said firmly.
And then Brody walked in. Fresh from the shower, hair damp, shirt clinging to broad shoulders. My chest tightened as he crossed the room, gaze steady on me. Without hesitation, he walked straight for me and pressed a kiss to the top of my head like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Only he hadn’t.
"Sorry, I am late, got caught up in the woodshed."
I sat frozen, breath caught, as he moved into the kitchen like nothing unusual had happened. Dean grinned, elbowing Judy, and she smirked like she’d seen everything.
“Maybe the land will end up back in the family anyway,” Dean teased.
Heat rushed to my cheeks while I processed what had just happened. “Doesn’t it bother you? What people are saying? A... about me?”
Judy frowned, confused.
And then the tears broke free. “What I did. What they are calling me.”
Judy reached across the table, her hand warm and steady. “Cassidy, you didn’t do this. Andrew did. He lied, manipulated, and preyed on you. Don’t carry his wrongdoing on your back.”
Dean nodded, his voice sharp with conviction. “We believe you, Cassidy. Always. We know exactly who you are.”
Something inside me shifted. Not cracked. Not broken. Shifted. Like the ground beneath me had steadied just a little. Settled.
Dean jumped up excitedly, saying we needed something for the occasion.
He poured wine, Judy declaring, “If Cassidy’s building next to us, that’s cause for celebration.
” Glasses clinked, laughter filled the air, and for the first time in too long, I felt like I belonged somewhere outside my parents’ home.
Adam arrived halfway through, loud and ridiculous, demanding pie before dinner and cracking jokes that had everyone laughing. Judy teased him about eating more than his share; Dean rolled his eyes and handed him another piece of bread.
Brody reappeared, slipping into the seat beside me, his knee brushing mine under the table. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. His presence was steady, grounding, exactly the thing I didn’t know I needed.
Judy leaned across, eyes bright. “So, Cassidy. Tell us about your writing. What’s next for you?”
For once, I didn’t shrink away from the question. I lifted my chin and smiled, soft but sure. “I think… I’m finally ready to tell my own story.”