Page 167 of Past the Broken Bridges

Close to our bridge.

Besides her family, the only person I recognize is Dixie, although she barely looks like the same girl I met at the beginning of the year. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. She’s lost weight. Barely speaks. Looks like she hasn’t slept for as long as I haven’t.

We sit together in silence, staring at the closed casket at the front of the room with the picture of a glowing redheaded girl above it.

Sawyer looked so much younger.

So much healthier.

A different person.

“I regret not staying at Dawson’s funeral,” Dixie tellsme, taking my hand. I don’t even know if she realizes she’s holding it, but I don’t let it go. I’m not sure I’m physically capable. “I don’t want to regret this.”

We sit like that for what feels like forever.

“She chose her fate,” she eventually whispers, leaning her head against my shoulder.

I blink, stuck staring at the blown-up picture of what used to be my neighbor. She refused to let life take her down without a fight.

She took control.

One last time.

I rest my cheek on the top of her head. “I guess we couldn’t have expected any less from her, could we?”

All she does is hum.

When everybody files out of the building, I see my father standing in the corner. I stop in disbelief, waiting for him to come to me.

Dixie is still holding my hand, standing behind me as he stops in front of us.

All Dad says is “You cared about her the same way she did you. I…I’ve failed you a lot in life, so I wanted to be here for you now.”

He didn’t show up to Dawson’s funeral, and he knew him for over a decade. Why now? Guilt? Shame? I can’t trust it. Can’t be sure it’s honorable.

He’s had his whole life to make up for his failures. It’s too late now. The same is true for Dawson and Sawyer.

“I don’t need you,” I inform him, voice void of any emotion. It’s all crammed in my chest, the tight ball growing and growing and ready to burst.

I pull Dixie along with me, ignoring his gaping expression.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“No.”

Her hand squeezes mine and I know it’s her way of saying,Me neither.

My father calls out to me, but I don’t stop.

Sawyer lived her life the way she wanted. She chose her fate—chose the people she wanted in her life.

It was time I did the same.

Maybe one day I would consider letting him back in, if he proved he deserved it.

But I would only cross that bridge when, and if, I got there.

Epilogue

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