That was when Paige appeared at the edge of the yard, expression sharp with purpose, cheeks pink from the cold, jacket half-zipped as if she’d rushed over here. “Okay,” she said, cutting straight through the moment. “I have news, and you’re not going to like it—but you’re going to feel vindicated.”
We all turned to her.
“I talked to the health inspector,” she continued. “He was just at the Tavern. He’s a gossip; we chat every time he comes in. I didn’t even have to try to get him talking. Graham pushed for that inspection at the Pennywhistle. Demanded it, actually. Hoped they’d find something big enough to shut Nate down for a bit.”
I went still. My hands curled around the mug. “So I wasn’t imagining it.”
“No,” Paige said gently. “You weren’t.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Piper swore softly. Cara’s jaw tightened in a way I recognized—protective, furious, yet contained.
“I’m done letting him make me smaller,” I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. “I don’t care what he wants anymore.”
“That’s my girl,” Paige said.
“Well,” I said, forcing a small smile, “before I do anything dramatic or confrontational or life-altering. Can we please go eat? I’m starving, and Grandma’s going to get suspicious if we don’t join them.”
Relief settled in—not because everything was fixed, but because I wasn’t alone in it anymore. I knew what I needed to do next. But I didn’t have to do itright this second.
We drifted back toward the long picnic tables where everyone had gathered—grandma and grandpa bundled in their coats, Paige’s daughters shoulder to shoulder, laughing over something on a phone. Piper and Lucy’s significant others, Ren and Spencer, were arguing cheerfully about the correct way to toast a bun. Hunter, Paige’s ex-best friend and current boyfriend, was flipping hot dogs with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times and still enjoyed it. Grandma passed me a paper plate already loaded, as if there’d never been a question of whether I belonged here.
I sat between my sisters, warmth pressed on both sides of me, the fire popping and hissing nearby. Conversation rolled easily—small things, familiar things. Gossip about town. A joke about the Taste-Off. Grandma shooing one of the pugs away from the table with exaggerated sternness. I ate without thinking too hard about it, letting the noise and the laughter do their quietwork, letting myself be held up by the people who loved me even when I didn’t quite know how to ask for it.
For the first time in days, my chest didn’t feel tight. I felt relief. I felt loved. I felt like I could handle Graham and everything would be okay.
Later, when the fire burned low and the pugs had finally exhausted themselves, Grandma found me by the barn. She didn’t ask questions. She just opened her arms.
I went into them like I’d been waiting all night.
“You don’t have to be brave all the time,” she murmured into my hair. “You just have to be honest. I know you talked to your sisters; I could see the looks on your faces when you were huddled together before dinner. I’m proud of you.”
I nodded, throat thick. “I think I’m ready to let?—”
“To let us love you?” She smiled, warm and knowing. “To finally believe you belong here?”
“Yeah. That.” My answer caught in my throat, fragile and uncertain, but I managed a small laugh. “I think I am,” I whispered, letting the words settle between us like a secret invitation. For the first time in ages, the ache inside me didn’t feel so heavy; it felt more like hope—raw, tentative. Grandma squeezed me tight, her hands steady and sure, and I let her warmth settle me, just breathing in the quiet balm of her presence.
We stood like that for a while, the barn looming gentle and familiar behind us, dusk tangled in the trees. The world felt softer, just for a moment—a lull between storms, a promise that starting over was possible. I pulled back, wiping my eyes, and gave her a watery smile. “Thank you,” I said, meaning every syllable.
“Don’t thank me, honey. I love you. We all do.”
“I love you. So much.”
We held on to each other for another quiet minute, letting the hush between us say what words couldn’t. In that embrace, the sharp edges of the past softened, and I realized that letting myself be seen was its own kind of bravery.
When I left to go home, the night felt different—clearer. Colder. Brighter. I walked to my car with my shoulders back, heart pounding not with fear, but resolve.
For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t running from anything.
I was choosing myself.
Chapter 31
Eliza
The night air bit at my cheeks as I crossed the backyard toward my car. Above me, the sky was a spill of black velvet, pricked through with stars—bright, sharp, unflinching. The kind of sky that made you feel small in the best way. The kind that dared you to be brave.
In the silence of the car, I caught my own reflection in the window—a face I hardly recognized, determined and open. The radio played low, a soft hum keeping me in the present. Every breath felt like a promise. I would keep showing up, no matter how much my hands trembled. I was done hiding from myself.
