Tiffany sat and picked up the bible. The leather cover was soft from years of handling. The pages were tissue-thin, crowded with her sister’s handwriting in the margins. Notes. Questions. Prayers.
She’d turned to Psalm 40 without really meaning to, the words seeming to reach out to her, to find her.
“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”
Skylar had underlined the words twice—once in yellow highlighter, once in blue pen. Next to them, in her sister’s loopy handwriting: “This. THIS. Remember this when it’s dark.”
It had been dark. In Sydney Harbour, with the water closing over her head and her strength giving out—it had been the darkest moment of her life.
But she hadn’t stayed in the pit. She’d been lifted out—by Dakota’s arms, by something larger than both of them. Set on solid ground. Given a firm place to stand.
She touched the scar on her left side through the thin cotton of her sundress. Still healing. Still tender. But a scar now, not a wound. Evidence of survival rather than ongoing damage.
The Silver family home stretched behind her—beautiful without being showy, the kind of house that felt like home even if you were just a guest. Selah and Chloe were inside, making breakfast. Through the kitchen window, Tiffany could see them moving around, could hear the faint sound of their laughter.
She’d never had this. A home full of people who wanted her here, for no reason at all.
The screen door opened behind her.
“Hey, Tiffany. Mind if I join you?”
Selah Silver walked toward her on the grass, two mugs of coffee in her hands. She wore jeans and a soft flannel shirt, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders. There was something about her—a warmth, a steadiness—that reminded Tiffany of what she imagined a mother should be.
“Please.” Tiffany gestured to the other Adirondack chair.
Selah settled in, handed her one of the mugs. The coffee was perfect—strong, with plenty of cream and sugar. Tiffany hadn’t told anyone how she liked it. Clearly they had a mole.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, looking out at the lake. A sailboat had appeared in the distance, its white sails catching the morning breeze.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Selah asked.
Jayden would have deflected. Fine. Great. Never better. Performance mode, even in response to kindness.
But she wasn’t Jayden anymore.
In fact, Dakota had come up with a new name.
TJ.
Felt right.
“Still healing,” she said honestly. “But good. Really good.”
Selah’s gaze dropped to the Bible in Tiffany’s lap. A small smile crossed her face—not surprise, not making a big deal of it. Just . . . pleasure.
“It was my sister’s.” Tiffany smoothed her hand over the worn cover. “She died a few years ago. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I used to just carry it. Couldn’t bring myself to read it—not really.” She looked out at the lake, at the spot where she’d released Skylar’s ashes. “But lately . . . I don’t know. It feels different now.”
Selah nodded, understanding without needing explanation. “Sometimes we’re not ready until we’re ready.”
They drank their coffee. The sailboat tacked, its sails snapping in the breeze.
“The wedding’s this weekend,” Selah said. “Are you sure you’re up for the trip?”
Scarlett Hathaway and Ford Marshall’s wedding. In Key West. The entire Jones, Inc., team was attending.
