Page 34 of Key West Promises

They all walked to Paradise Harbor House, each woman lost in her own thoughts. The large Victorian house came into view and several adults and children sat outside on the porch. Chelsea thought the place seemed cheerful and welcoming, despite the peeling paint in spots.

Elena met them at the door, her relief evident as she led them to where the repairman was already working.

"It'll take a few hours," the man said, wiping sweat from his brow, "but I can fix it. Might want to move some of your more vulnerable residents somewhere cooler in the meantime."

"They can come to our place," Tess offered immediately. "It's not huge, but the AC works."

Elena's grateful smile was interrupted by a crash from upstairs, followed by the sound of running feet. Carla appeared at the top of the stairs, her youngest child on her hip.

"Sorry!" she called down. "Dominic was trying to help pack up some toys and knocked over some books. Everything's fine!"

Chelsea turned to Leah. “I don’t know what you mean when you say your place isn’t huge. You must have meant to say that it’s the tiniest house in Key West.” She then turned to Elena. “Why don’t we all have a nice lunch over at The Pizzeria…my treat!”

Kaitlyn laughed. “Seriously, Aunt Chelsea? All of us?”

Chelsea smiled. “You bet. We can all have ice cream after and by then, I’m sure the air conditioning will be fixed.”

Elena sighed and extended her hand. “That’s very kind of you, thank you. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Elena Armstrong. I’m the Director of Paradise Harbor House.”

Chelsea shook Elena’s hand. “Chelsea Marsden-Thompson, but please, call me Cheslea.”

As they all walked to The Pizzeria, Chelsea's phone buzzed. Gretchen's name flashed on the screen, and for the first time in their lives, Chelsea hit 'ignore' on her sister's call.

Some revelations required space to process. Some betrayals needed time to heal. And sometimes, she was learning, the strongest thing a big sister could do was step back and let the truth find its own way forward.

Later, as they sat around the bungalow's kitchen table, fans whirring against the evening heat, Chelsea looked at her family—at Leah's determined focus as she worked on her paperwork, at Tess's quiet strength as she prepared salads, and at Kaitlyn's vulnerable courage as she showed her aunt more photos of the sister she'd never met.

"What do we do now?" Kaitlyn asked softly.

Chelsea reached across the table, taking her niece's hand. "Now? Now we figure out how to move forward. We’re going to have to try our best to listen to what your mother has to say, and why she did what she did. We’ll make no progress if we all keep talking about how angry we are. There has to be a reason your mother wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell us the truth. You know," Chelsea said, watching Ernest strut past with his usual literary dignity, "sometimes things have to break completely before they can be fixed properly."

"Is that your artistic wisdom talking?" Tess teased, but her eyes were serious.

"No," Chelsea replied, thinking of Gretchen, of Sarah, of all the broken pieces waiting to be reassembled. "That's just life. We have no idea if Sarah and her mother want anything to do with our family. We can’t put everything on your mother. We need to get to the truth. We need to get everything out on the table. It’s the only way this family heals.”

CHAPTER 15

Chelsea sat on the bungalow's porch in the early morning light, coffee growing cold beside her as she scrolled through Sarah Miller's Instagram feed for the third time.

Each photo felt like a punch to the gut—not just because of the girl's uncanny resemblance to Kaitlyn, but because of what these images represented. Years of family gatherings, holidays, and milestones that should have included both sisters. Years of Gretchen's careful deception.

Ernest strutted past, pausing to eye her coffee cup with his usual literary criticism. The rooster had become an odd source of consistency in the chaos of the past twenty-four hours.

"Don’t even think about it or you’ll be taking a nap on a plate tonight,” Chelsea warned. “How’d you like to be thought of as the main course?”

"He prefers 'literary consultant,'" Leah said, appearing in the doorway with her own coffee. “We thought about naming him Hemingway but decided Ernest was a better fit. And he's very particular about proper coffee appreciation."

Chelsea managed a weak smile. "How long did it take you to process this? About Sarah, I mean?"

Leah settled into the chair beside her, considering. "Still processing, honestly. Every time I think I've wrapped my head around it, I remember something else—some conversation with Gretchen, some moment that means something entirely different now."

"I feel the same. That whole mess when you all came to Captiva the first time and I came running after you to give you money to get started. And then, my wedding. I can’t stop thinking about it all. She’s moved to Captiva and we’ve become close, at least closer than we have in years. She’s had plenty of time over these last few months to tell me.”

Leah nodded. “I know. The whole thing is crazy. Why would she do this? It’s one thing not to tell us, but her own daughter? What could she have been thinking?”

“I was thinking about when Kaitlyn came to stay with me right after high school. She didn’t want to go to college, and I think she spent that summer on Captiva to get away from her mother. Gretchen could have told both of us then. It would have been the perfect opportunity.”

Leah nodded. "I’d forgotten about that. You know what I love? I love that our sweet niece runs to her aunts when life gets too tough. I hate to see her hurt, but it warms my heart to know that she runs to us when she is.”

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