A week passed since the vote. The greenhouse stood untouched, a monument not only to Celeste Wynn's legacy, but to the lives she had nurtured—especially Sera's.
The town's atmosphere had shifted. The gossip that once whispered judgment now buzzed with admiration. Strangers who once averted their eyes now stopped Sera in the street to offer thanks or share stories of Celeste. It was overwhelming, but also healing.
That morning, Sera stood at the greenhouse gates, watching the sunrise cast gold and pink over the glass panels. Lina approached from the bakery, her hair tied up, flour on her cheek, holding a paper bag of warm pastries.
"I still can't believe we pulled it off," Lina said with a grin, handing Sera a croissant.
"We didn't pull it off," Sera replied, tearing off a piece. "We earned it."
She was right. The victory hadn't come from a single speech or photo—it came from persistence, from truth, from the voices of women who had been silenced for too long.
But beneath the victory, Sera felt something else stirring. Not doubt, exactly—but displacement. For so long, her mission had been to protect Celeste's dream. Now that it was done, she wasn't sure what to do next.
That afternoon, Mira brought her a thick folder. "You might want to see this."
Inside were letters—old ones—written by Celeste to women across the country. Hidden networks, forgotten alliances, underground shelters. Sera read with wide eyes.
"Celeste wasn't just helping here," she murmured. "She was part of a bigger system."
"Exactly," Mira said. "And there's talk of reopening a few of them. If we had your help..."
It hit her then. The greenhouse was just the beginning. Celeste had planted seeds in hearts and cities all over the country.
But before she could decide, there was unfinished business.
That evening, Sera walked to the lake where she and Lina first kissed. The air smelled like wild mint and wet earth. Lina was already there, skipping stones.
"I need to ask you something," Sera said.
Lina turned. "That sounds serious."
"It is."
Sera took a breath. "What are we? Because I don't want to leave without knowing."
Lina's smile faded into something softer. "I was wondering when you'd ask."
"I've been scared," Sera admitted. "Scared I was just passing through your life like a storm."
Lina stepped closer, brushing her fingers along Sera's cheek.
"You were a storm," she said. "But you're also the calm after it."
Sera laughed—choked on it, really.
"I don't want to leave," she whispered.
"Then don't."
And just like that, the rootless girl who wandered into Elowen Ridge looking for answers found something far more enduring.
A reason to stay.