I had to find that buried bag before someone else did. But I had to be careful. Peyton had hidden it for a reason. Did Whitney know about it? Did she know what her daughter was capable of?
I picked up my purse and slid it over my shoulder. I stepped out of the bathroom, made my way through the immaculate industrial kitchen, and back to the memorial service.
Near the hallway, Graham Alistair leaned against the wall, head down, phone glowing in his hands. His thumb scrolled mechanically. Whitney's handsome husband was present but also absent.
I moved past him and scanned the room for Mia. It was time to go. Now.
Chloe stood at the microphone, giving a teary, heartfelt eulogy. Her voice quavered with emotion that seemed genuine. She dabbed at her eyes with a damp tissue.
"Leah was one of my closest friends," Chloe said. "I remember this one afternoon last fall, we were supposed to study for a bigscience test, but instead we ended up at the beach for hours, just talking. She told me about her dream of becoming an art teacher someday."
A murmur of sympathy rippled through the crowd. Heads nodded. A few people wiped at their eyes.
"She had this incredible way of seeing beauty in everything. Even on her hardest days, she'd find something to draw, something to paint, like her sunsets and flowers. She made the world brighter just by noticing it."
Chloe's gaze swept across the crowd, pausing on faces here and there as she spoke. I found myself nodding along, caught in the current of Chloe's words. They felt true. They sounded like Leah.
Across the room, Mia stood transfixed. Her face had gone pale, her hands limp at her sides. But it was her posture that sent alarm skittering down my spine. Her shoulders drawn up, rigid, like she was bracing for impact.
"I wish I could've helped her," Chloe said, her voice breaking. "I keep having these terrible nightmares about that night. Night terrors, really. I wake up screaming, and my mom has to calm me down. But then my therapist helped me understand—they aren't nightmares at all."
The room went dead silent. Even the waitstaff froze mid-step. Someone's fork clattered against a plate, the sound obscenely loud.
Mia's throat worked. Her fingers twitched at her sides.
Chloe's gaze landed on Mia. Her pale blue eyes gleamed with something that didn't fit the tears on her cheeks, the tremble in her voice. "They're memories. And they're real. My mind had blocked them out because of the trauma. But they’re coming back. In pieces at first, but now?—"
We needed to leave.
We needed to leave right now.
I moved through the crowd toward Mia, weaving between bodies, trying not to draw attention. The plush carpet muffledmy footsteps. It felt like wading through water, every step too slow, the distance between us stretching impossibly.
Mia's eyes found mine across the room, wide and terrified. Her mouth formed a single word:No.
I couldn't reach her in time.
"I remember," Chloe said. "I remember everything."
Whitney's hand flew to her mouth. Rowan stood frozen, her face carefully blank. Brooke gripped her champagne flute, and Camille pulled Zara closer, her arm a protective bar across her daughter's chest. Peyton shifted beside Alexis, her jaw tight.
Vivienne stood at the front, her spine rigid, her hands folded in front of her stomach. As Chloe spoke, Vivienne's head tilted as if straining to catch every syllable. Daniel leaned toward her, his hand finding hers.
All eyes were on Chloe.
It was like watching a slow-motion car crash. I knew what was coming, knew it in the sick churn of my stomach, the cold prickle across my skin. I could only watch, utterly helpless.
Chloe's voice rang out, clear and damning: "I saw Mia push Leah."
Chapter Thirty-Six
The community clubhouse erupted into chaos. Whispers slithered through the crowd like smoke. I lunged through the sea of bodies, my pulse thundering in my ears, and grabbed Mia's wrist.
People stepped back as we passed, brows raised, mouths open in shock. Their eyes narrowed with an unspoken accusation that burned like acid against my skin.
I wanted to turn and scream at them all, to defend my daughter, but urgency propelled me onward.
"Mom." Mia's fingers dug into my forearm. "Everyone's staring."
