Chapter 35
Alice
Ineed my corner table at the Cozy Cup. After everything with my mother last night and the stress of work today, I need the one place that’s always felt safe. My book, my white chocolate mocha, and the quiet corner where nobody bothers me.
But the moment I walk through the door, I know something’s different. The usual warmth of the shop feels colder.
The conversations don’t exactly stop, but they get quieter.
My stomach drops. Three women at a table near the window glance at me, then lean closer together.
I adjust my glasses, buying time to decide if I should stay.
Mr. Peterson from the hardware store looks up from his newspaper, studies me for a moment, then goes back to reading.
I adjust my glasses nervously and walk to the counter, trying to act normal. Diane looks up from wiping down the espresso machine.
“The usual?” she asks.
“Please.”
While she makes my drink, I can feel eyes on me. The couple at the table by the door are definitely talking about me. I catch fragments: “that officer” and “poor family” and something about “stirring up trouble.”
My chest tightens.
Diane sets my white chocolate mocha on the counter. “Extra whipped cream today,” she says, which isn’t something I asked for.
“Thanks.” I give her my most genuine smile.
I make my way to my usual corner table, the one tucked away from the main seating area.
It’s taken.
A man I don’t recognize is sitting there with a laptop, even though there are plenty of other empty tables.
Fine. I choose a table closer to the middle of the room than I’d like. I open my book and try to lose myself in the story, but I can’t concentrate.
“Shame what that girl put that boy through,” someone says behind me. I don’t turn around, but my hands tighten on my book.
“The Carlstons have always been good people.”
“And now their son is sitting in jail because some woman can’t handle a little breakup.”
My face gets hot. My hands are shaking. I push my glasses up my nose and stare at the same sentence three times before giving up on reading.
“I heard she got that cop wrapped around her finger. Probably promised him something, if you know what I mean.”
I stand up so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. My book falls to the floor with a thud.
I leave it there. Several people look over.
I head for the door, leaving my barely touched mocha on the table.
“Alice.” Diane’s voice stops me before I reach the exit. She's holding my book and my mug. “You forgot your drink. And this.”
When I reach for it, she doesn’t let go right away.
“Table seven's been running their mouth for the past ten minutes,” she says quietly. “Some people don't have anything better to do than gossip about things they don't understand.”
She says it loud enough that table seven can definitely hear.
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” Diane glances over at the table where the conversation was coming from.
“You’ve been coming here for months. Never caused trouble, always polite, always tip well.
Some customer I’ve never seen before wants to talk trash about one of my regulars?
” She shakes her head. “That’s not how I run my business. ”
I look at her, surprised by the edge in her voice.
“Your coffee’s on the house today,” she continues. “Your usual table will be open tomorrow. I’ll make sure of it.”
My eyes sting. I blink hard.
I take my mug, feeling something loosen in my chest for the first time all day. “Thank you.”
“People talk because they don’t have anything better to do. Doesn’t mean they know what they’re talking about.” Diane pauses, wiping her hands on her apron. “My son’s a good judge of character. If Sawyer thinks you’re worth protecting, that’s good enough for me.”
I stare at her. “Your son?” Who’s her son? Do I know him?
“Sawyer Edwards.” She says it like she's proud just saying his name.
“Comes in here every morning ordering hot chocolate instead of coffee like a normal person.” She smiles.
“He talks about you, you know. Always speaks well of you.” My throat tightens.
His mother is defending me to strangers.
His mother, who just heard people call me manipulative, is standing up for me anyway.
I push my glasses up my nose. Oh. Sawyer's mom owns the Cozy Cup. I don't know what to do with that information.
I sit back down, this time at a small table near the counter where Diane can see me.
Choosing to stay instead of running feels like a small victory.
Maybe the only one I'll get today, but I'll take it. The conversation at table seven has moved on to something else. Maybe it’s because Diane walked by their table twice, or maybe they just got bored.
Either way, the whispers about me have stopped.
I try reading again, but my mind keeps drifting. Last night, my mother chose Lance and his family over me. Today, strangers in my favorite coffee shop think I’m some manipulative woman who seduced a cop into arresting an innocent man.
But Diane stood up for me. A woman who barely knows me beyond my coffee order took my side without me having to ask.
My phone sits face-down on the table. No texts from Sawyer today, which is probably for the best. We’re both trying to be careful about appearances, about not giving the investigators more ammunition.
But sitting here, listening to people call Lance a “good kid” and me a troublemaker, I realize something. I’m tired of being careful. I’m tired of protecting other people’s feelings while mine don’t seem to matter.
I've spent my whole life making myself smaller so other people would be comfortable. Staying with Lance because leaving would cause drama. Avoiding Sawyer in public so people wouldn't talk. Letting my mother manipulate me because confronting her was too hard.
I'm done.
Lance abused me—mostly verbally—for all four years we were together. Then, after I left, he stalked me.
Those are facts, no matter what anyone else wants to believe.
I finish my mocha slowly, letting the warmth settle in my stomach. The ceramic mug is heavy in my hands. Diane refills it without being asked, setting it down with a small smile.
“Better?” she asks.
“Getting there.”
When I finally leave, the afternoon light is gray and heavy. Snow clouds, probably. Winter's coming whether I'm ready for it or not.
But as I walk to my car, I realize I feel steadier than I have in days. Someone believed me without question. Someone defended me without hesitation.
Sawyer's mother thinks I'm worth standing up for.
Maybe it's time I think so too.
The gossip will continue. My mother will keep pressuring me. The investigation will drag on.
But I'm not backing down anymore.