SHE TURNED, STARTLED, AND FROZE WHEN she recognized the woman approaching.
"It really is you." The woman opened her arms wide. "It's me, dear—Aunt Jess. You look so different, I almost didn't recognize you."
Stephanie's pulse spiked. Aunt Jess. Trisha's sister. The woman carried the same eyes as her stepmother—almond-shaped, sharp, always calculating. Yet her smile was softened, practiced, almost too rehearsed. Stephanie forced her lips to curve, moving stiffly into the embrace.
"Aunt Jess," she whispered, biting her lip as her arms barely brushed the woman's back. "How could I ever forget you?" She drew away quickly, putting space between them with a brittle smile. "And you…you look different too. The haircut suits you. I love it."
Jess laughed lightly, brushing a hand over her bobbed hair. "I know, right? Who would've thought shorter was the best option?"
"It was a great decision," Stephanie said. Her voice came out too fast, like she was trying to fill the silence before Jess could.
Jess reached up, almost tenderly, and tucked a strand of Stephanie's hair behind her ear. Her face shifted—melancholy, heavy. "How are you, dear? How have you been…on your own?"
Stephanie's shoulders stiffened. She forced herself to nod. "I've been fine, actually. Granny keeps me company."
"Linda?" Jess tilted her head, lips pursed. "Well, I suppose it's good you have her. Someone on your side." Her tone lowered, soft as a knife sliding into cloth. "I can only hope you're truly doing alright. With Fred gone and well…Sariah, it must be so hard for you."
The name landed like a slap. Stephanie's throat closed, her fists tightening around the flower stems until the plastic crinkled. She said nothing, eyes fixed on the ground.
Jess continued, voice dripping with false sympathy. "If only Sariah could be here. She was a great woman, but I always had a feeling she was never truly capable of being held down. Fled just like that."
Stephanie's head snapped up, eyes wide, brows furrowed. A look of shock froze her face, but her mouth stayed locked. Nails bit into her palms. The words wanted out, but she swallowed them, forcing herself still.
"I—" her voice cracked, weak. "I need to be excused. I'll be back."
She turned quickly, slipping through the crowd before anyone could follow. The music from the speakers blurred into a dull hum, a Taylor Swift song twisted into background noise. She found an empty stretch by the parked cars, bracing against the cool metal as tears threatened to spill. A sob slipped out, ragged, and she pressed a fist against her mouth to muffle it. Pretend. Pretend. Just breathe.
Her chest hurt. She bent forward, tugging at her purse, digging until her fingers brushed the wrapper of a Snickers bar. She tore it open with shaking hands, biting into the chocolate as though sugar could patch the hole in her chest. It only made the lump in her throat worse.
She didn't know how long she sat there until a knock startled her.
She dropped the wrapper onto her lap, jerking upright, heart hammering. But when she turned, relief flickered—it was John, leaning casually against her window. She pressed a palm over her chest and groaned.
"God, you scared me."
He bent his elbows against the glass, grin subdued this time. "Are you doing okay? You've been out here almost half an hour, Steph. I'm…sorry about what Jess said. I didn't find it cool in the slightest."
Stephanie laughed bitterly. "Sorry? Are you really, John? I don't think you are. You always enjoyed playing with my feelings. What she said…it's not the first time I've heard words like that, so why apologize now? Just stop trying to be nice to me, okay? I'm used to different."
His grin faltered. He studied her face. "Why are you hiding here? If you're upset, why not tell her? Why not let her know how you feel?"
"That's not how it works." Her voice cracked but steadied. "It's what I do. Stay silent, no matter how angry I am. I don't get the last say, John. I only get to run."
"You're wrong." His voice was quiet, firm. "It doesn't have to be that way anymore. You're not a kid. And I'm not either. We don't have to stay trapped in who we were."
He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You should head back..."
"John, wait—" But he had already started walking, disappearing into the crowd.
***
As the sun sank low, golden light spilled through the trees, casting long shadows across the park. White roses and lilies were arranged carefully on small wooden stands, their petals glowing faintly in the warm, fading light."
Everywhere Stephanie turned, the air was thick with perfume—flowers, perfume, too much warmth pressed into too little space. It was supposed to be reverent, honoring the man who had been the pillar of this family. Instead, Steph felt smothered, as if the blossoms themselves conspired to choke her.
Her fingers trembled around the stem of her glass, the champagne fizz prickling against her lips but settling sour in her stomach. People spoke in hushed voices around her—condolences wrapped in polite smiles, as though grief could be worn like evening attire. Steph smiled back when she had to, nodded when it was expected, but the sound of it all—the clinking glasses, murmured gossip, the steady hum of a string quartet—pressed in on her chest.
She needed air.
Sliding away from the cluster of mourners, Steph moved toward a side table laden with drinks. Her heels clicked too loud on the polished floor. She caught her reflection in the tall glass window behind the bar: pale, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes darting too fast. Not grieving, not really. Just surviving.
Her hand shook as she reached for another drink, and the room tilted—light and sound folding over each other until she could hardly breathe. A sharp pain flared at her temples, her vision narrowing as though someone had pulled a curtain over her eyes. She pressed her fingers against her forehead, trying to ground herself, but her legs stumbled out from under her.
And then—hands. Firm, familiar. A grip at her elbow, steadying her just before she hit the marble floor.
"Stephanie?"
The voice hit harder than the dizziness. Low, husky, tinged with disbelief.
Her eyes snapped up.
Adrian.
Her breath caught, a soundless gasp clawing up her throat. The room seemed to collapse into the space between them. His face was achingly familiar—sharper jawline now, his dark hair swept carelessly back, but those eyes… they hadn't changed. Those eyes had once looked at her as if she was the only person alive.
She stumbled back, wrenching her arm from his grip, almost knocking over a chair. Her chest heaved.
"It's me," Adrian said, stepping forward, his voice soft, coaxing. "Steph, it's been—God, how long? Since—"
"Don't," she rasped, shaking her head. Her voice barely rose above the music, but it was enough.
He reached for her again, hand grazing her sleeve, hesitant but desperate. "You never answered my calls. I tried, I tried so many times—"
Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She couldn't do this. Not here. Not with him.
"Stop," she whispered, though it was more plea than command.
Adrian's brows knit together, a frown pulling at his mouth. "I don't understand. After everything—"
A shadow fell across them.
"Adrian."
Beatrice's voice. Silken, deliberate.
Stephanie froze.
Beatrice stood poised a few steps away, her gown a sleek cascade of midnight silk. She wore mourning like a queen—composed, radiant, untouchable. But Steph caught the flicker in her eyes when they darted from Adrian to her, something sharp and proprietary glinting there.
With a smile too polished to be genuine, Beatrice slipped her hand through Adrian's arm. The gesture was casual to anyone watching, but Steph felt the sting of it like a slap. Beatrice's thumb brushed over Adrian's knuckles, slow, intimate, territorial.
"Well, this is a surprise," Beatrice said sweetly, her gaze never leaving Steph. "Stephanie. We haven't seen you in ages, have we, Adrian?"
Her tone carried the softness of silk, but her smile—the slight curl of it—cut like glass.
Steph forced a smile back, though her lips trembled. "I was just leaving."
"Oh?" Beatrice's voice pitched higher, feigning innocence. She stepped closer, the faint click of her heels echoing against the floor. Her fingers tightened imperceptibly on Adrian's arm, staking her claim. "But you were in the middle of something, weren't you? A reunion, maybe? Old memories, catching up?"
Her words slid under Steph's skin, each syllable coated in honey and poison.
Adrian opened his mouth, but Steph shook her head quickly, stepping back. "No. There's nothing to catch up on." Her voice cracked on the last word, but she covered it by setting her glass down too hard on the table.
She turned, ready to push past them—ready to escape.
But Beatrice's hand shot out, delicate fingers curling around Steph's wrist. The grip was light enough to appear casual to anyone watching, yet there was steel beneath it. Beatrice's eyes gleamed with a smile that never reached them.
"Not so fast," she murmured, leaning in just slightly. From her clutch, she slid an ivory envelope and pressed it into Steph's hand. "We're keeping a family dinner. We do hope you can make it."
The envelope felt heavier than paper should. Steph's throat tightened as Beatrice's smile widened, the perfect picture of warmth to the surrounding guests, though Steph could feel the warning embedded in her touch.
"I'll… see," Steph managed, her pulse wild beneath Beatrice's fingers.
Beatrice finally let go, brushing her hand down Adrian's sleeve as though to wipe away Steph's presence. "Wonderful. It's important to keep family close. Don't you think, Adrian?"
Adrian glanced between them, confusion clouding his features, but he said nothing.
Steph clutched the envelope, the paper crumpling under the pressure of her palm. She didn't trust her voice, didn't trust her legs, but she forced herself to move—past the flowers, past the whispers, past the weight of Adrian's eyes still on her back.
She reached her car, pulled open the door, and sank inside. The key was barely in the ignition when someone knocked. John again.
She rolled down the window with a sigh. "What now?"
He held out a folded slip of paper. "My number. I want to stay in touch this time. Call me, please?"
She stared at it, then took it with a faint smile. "No promises."
She reversed slowly, leaving him behind in the shrinking mirror.