Page 197 of Sins of the Hidden

"These roses should go near the center," Mom said, her gardening gloves stained dark with effort.

Joslyn worked beside me, usually perfect ponytail messy beneath a bandana, dirt smudging her cheek where she'd absently touched it. "I can't believe your dad kept it secret for so long."

"It was to protect me," I said, though the words felt hollow against the reality of what I'd learned—that I was born of violence, that my existence began with death, that my father had buried these truths alongside my birth mother's body. Handsdeep in dark soil, I felt closer to Valerie than I ever had before. We were planting life where there had only been secrets.

Nyla sat on the garden bench, watching us work rather than joining. Her face had hollowed since Darrell disappeared, her cheekbones too sharp against skin that had lost its warmth. Dark circles carved permanent residence beneath eyes that had seen too much. She'd grown fragile in the months since her father went on the run, since Mitchell stepped into power, since their marriage became a shield rather than a choice.

"You're lucky," Joslyn murmured softly, eyes distant. "Even your secrets loved you."

Guilt twisted in my chest. Joslyn and Nyla didn't have mothers who planted gardens and kept secrets to protect them.

"Don't be silly," Mom said, brushing dirt from her hands as she stood. "You're all my girls."

The warmth in Mom's voice made something loosen in my chest. Since taking over management at Poppy Oak's, Joslyn had become like family, and Mom had naturally extended that same care to Nyla. It wasn't forced or awkward—just the easy way Mom loved, with her whole heart, without conditions.

"I'll get more water," Mom said. "The impatiens are looking thirsty."

Mom disappeared inside, the screen door closing with a soft snap behind her. The moment she vanished, Joslyn turned to Nyla with the bluntness that came from years of friendship.

"You need to eat something," she said. "Your clothes are hanging off you."

Nyla tugged at her shirt, loose around her thin frame. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." I set my trowel down, really looking at her. The hollows beneath her eyes had deepened, skin stretched too thin over bones that hadn't been visible before. Her weddingring slid loosely around her finger, no longer snug where it had once fit perfectly. "You look sick."

"Hex says I'm just run down." Her voice wavered slightly. "It's been a lot, with Dad gone and Mitchell trying to hold everything together."

"Speaking of," Joslyn said, wiping her hands on her jeans, "how's nursing school going? Weren't you supposed to start clinicals soon?"

Something flashed across Nyla's face—relief at the change of subject, followed immediately by discomfort. She twisted her wedding ring, a nervous habit she'd developed since Mitchell slid it onto her finger.

"I'm dropping out," she said quietly.

"What?" Joslyn and I spoke in unison, the word sharp in the evening air.

"Nursing school. I'm quitting. Hex is teaching me everything I need to know anyway."

"But you've wanted this for years," something that was finally hers alone.

"Things change." Her words fell flat, defeated. "People change."

Mom returned with the watering can, immediately sensing the tension. She looked between us, reading the situation with the intuition of someone who'd spent years managing a household of secrets.

"Everything okay out here?" she asked, setting the can down.

"Yes," Nyla said, but the word came out too quick, too sharp.

Mom nodded slowly, not pushing. She'd learned, over the years of being married to Dad, when to press and when to let people find their own way to the truth. "Tea's ready."

We moved inside after that, the conversation shifting to safer topics as Mom set out tea and cookies. But the weight of Nyla's decision hung between us, unspoken but heavy.

Tea bag spun aimlessly in my mug, a reflection rippling back—fractured, familiar. A girl shaped by everyone else's secrets, recognizable only by what she'd lost. Joslyn's scent of vanilla and cinnamon clung to her clothes, mixing with Mom's lavender soap and Nyla's too-expensive perfume. Late evening shadows stretched across the polished floors. The emptiness felt right tonight. Safer.

But safety had always been a lie I told myself.

"You okay, Oak?" Nyla's hand landed on my wrist, her touch light but present. Her gold bangles clinked softly against the wooden table, the sound sharp in the quiet.

My smile felt like a wound. "Just tired."

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