Chapter 16
Tessa
The bell above the shop door chimed softly.
I kept trimming stems.
One cut.
Then another.
Precise movements. Controlled movements.
The kind that kept my hands busy enough to stop my thoughts from spiraling.
“Be right with you,” I called automatically.
No answer came back.
Just silence.
Something about it made my stomach tighten.
Slowly, I looked up.
The clippers slipped from my fingers and clattered against the counter.
“No…”
Margaret Reynolds stood just inside the flower shop.
Cathy’s mother.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Older too.
The years had carved deep lines around her mouth and eyes, but the way she looked at me hadn’t changed.
Sharp.
Searching.
Like she still wasn’t sure what she was seeing.
Neither of us moved.
The flower shop suddenly felt too quiet.
Too small.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I said finally.
Margaret let the door close softly behind her. “I didn’t know I was either.”
Her voice sounded steady.
Too steady.
Like she was holding herself together by force.
My chest tightened.
“I saw the video,” she said.
I nodded once. “Yeah.”
Silence settled heavily between us.
Margaret stepped farther inside, her eyes never leaving mine.
“I watched it five times.”
I swallowed hard.
“I kept thinking maybe I missed something,” she whispered. “Maybe I was seeing it wrong.”
“You weren’t.”
Her gaze sharpened instantly.
“Then why didn’t you tell the truth?”
The question hit hard enough to make me physically flinch.
“I did.”
“No.” Her jaw tightened. “You confessed.”
My throat burned.
“I said what Cathy asked me to say.”
Margaret stared at me.
“And afterward?”
“I told my mom the truth.”
The words sounded hollow even now.
“What happened?”
A humorless breath escaped me.
“She looked at me like I was lying. She told me I was lying.”
Something flickered across Margaret’s face then.
Confusion maybe.
Pain.
“Why didn’t you come to us?” she asked quietly.
I looked down at my hands.
“I tried.”
Silence.
“The day after the funeral, I came to your house.”
Margaret went still.
“I stood outside for almost twenty minutes.”
The memory rose sharp and vivid.
Rain dripping off the porch roof.
My hands shaking.
Cathy’s blood still haunting my clothes.
“I heard voices inside,” I whispered. “Then somebody said my name.”
Margaret’s face paled.
“And everything got quiet.”
The ache in my chest widened.
“I waited anyway.”
A tear slid slowly down my cheek.
“But nobody opened the door.”
The flower shop fell silent except for the low hum of the cooler in the back.
Margaret pressed trembling fingers against her mouth briefly before lowering her hand again.
“You let me believe…” Her voice cracked. “You let all of us believe you killed her.”
“I let everyone believe it.”
“Why?”
Because she asked me to.
Because she was dying.
Because I loved her.
The words tangled painfully in my throat.
“She was scared,” I whispered instead. “And she begged me.”
Margaret’s eyes squeezed shut briefly.
“She was drunk,” she snapped suddenly. “She wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“I know.”
My voice rose before I could stop it.
“But she was dying, and she grabbed my hand and asked me not to tell her parents she’d been drinking, and I—”
Emotion closed hard around my throat.
“I couldn’t say no.”
Margaret staggered backward slightly like the truth physically hit her.
“You went to prison for six years,” she whispered. “For that?”
I nodded once.
“I made a promise.”
Tears filled her eyes instantly.
“Do you have any idea what those years did to us?”
“I know.”
And God, I did.
The funeral.
The hatred.
The whispers every time her family’s name came up.
“I hated you,” she admitted brokenly.
“I know.”
The honesty hung painfully between us.
Neither of us looked away.
Then Margaret’s shoulders sagged slightly.
“When I saw the video…” Her voice shook. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel.”
I stayed silent.
Because honestly?
Neither did I.
“There’s relief,” she admitted quietly. “And anger. And guilt.”
Her eyes filled again.
“Because now I don’t know who I’ve been mourning all these years.”
The words hit harder than yelling ever could.
I wiped quickly at my face.
“You don’t have to forgive me.”
Margaret stared at me for a long moment.
“I believe you loved her.”
My breath caught painfully.
“But that doesn’t erase any of this.”
“I know.”
Another silence settled between us.
Not sharp this time.
Just tired.
Grieving.
“I don’t know what happens now,” she whispered.
“Neither do I.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
Then turned toward the door.
Her hand paused on the handle before she looked back at me one last time.
“I’m sorry nobody listened to you.”
The words shattered something quietly inside my chest.
My throat tightened too hard to answer right away.
“Thank you,” I whispered finally.
She gave one small nod.
Then she left.
The bell chimed softly behind her.
And I stood there in the middle of the flower shop staring at the closed door long after she was gone.
Nothing was fixed.
Nothing erased.
But for the first time—
the truth didn’t feel lonely anymore.