Page 10 of Shattered Promise

ABBY

Twelve hours later,and I’m back in my studio apartment.

Silence presses in on me from all sides, thick and mildly oppressive. When did that happen? I spin around slowly, trying to pinpoint the source of the tension wrapping around my shoulders like a wet sheet. The quiet never used to bother me. My sister once joked that I moved across the country just to get away from the noise of our family. What she really meant wasto get away from them. It wasn’t mean when she said it, but it was true.

And maybe it worked, for a while. But lately? The quiet feels less like peace and more like something I forgot to escape from.

My apartment is technically tidy, but bare in a way that makes it feel like a long-term hotel stay. A couch. A bed. A too-small kitchen table I never eat at. The walls are mostly empty, save for a single print I bought at a street fair and haven’t bothered to hang yet. There’s no time. There’s never time.

I drop onto the couch—one of the three pieces of furniture I own—and stare blankly at the TV screen in front of me. Exhaustion drapes itself over my limbs, heavy and familiar, but my fingertips twitch with the familiar jolt of unfinished tasks.Ishouldcheck my emails. Touch base with my team. Confirm venue numbers for next month’s benefit gala.

“Five more minutes,” I murmur. A compromise.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I debate ignoring it. Just five minutes of silence. But guilt kicks in fast. What if someone needs me?

I slip my phone free and see it’s a video call from Mom.

Strangely, the urge to hit ignore freezes my fingers. I snap out of it a beat later and swipe to answer with a smile I’ve practiced since high school.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Mom’s face fills the screen, grinning and flushed from the heat of her greenhouse. Her dark hair is swept into a loose knot, and there’s dirt smudged across her cheek and the tip of her nose. “You made it back okay?”

“Yeah,” I say lightly. “Just got home twenty minutes ago or so.”

“Oh, so late? I thought you’d be home a couple hours ago.”

I clear my throat and pull my knees up to sit criss-cross on the couch. “Had a connection this time.”

Her brows wrinkle and she glances away, distracted. “Really? I thought they did direct flights here.”

“Usually, yeah. But this was a last-minute flight, remember?”

“Ah, okay.” She shifts a pot slightly out of view. “Oh! I forgot to tell you. I ran into Jessica Thompson’s mom at the co-op yesterday. You remember Jessica, right? You guys were in ballet together in elementary school." She squints over her shoulder at me, waiting for confirmation.

I flash her a deadpan smirk, tilting my head to the side. "Yeah, I remember Jessica." How could I not? Avalon Falls is small enough that everyone kind of knew everyone by only a few degrees of separation.

She grins, waving her garden-gloved hand in the air. "Anyway, I ran into her mom, Diane, and she said she sawsomething online about your shoreline project. How fun is that?”

I smile, even as my throat tightens. “That was mostly the team. I just handle the events.”

“Well, either way—it's still impressive. You’ve always had a gift for bringing people together.” She frowns at the plant in front of her. “Lord knows you didn’t get that from me.”

I laugh quietly. “That's not true.” She thinks it's Dad that holds our family together, but it's always been her.

Her eyes twinkle as she looks back at me, but her attention flickers again just a second later. “Anyway, I told her we’re all just so proud of you. It must feel good, right? Seeing everything you’ve worked so hard for finally pay off?”

The tight ache settles behind my ribs again. What started as pride has curdled into pressure. I open my mouth twice before I actually speak. My pulse hammers like I’m about to do something reckless. Like jump off the quarry cliffs back home.

"Yeah. I was thinking maybe I should come home."

She adjusts something near the camera. The video wobbles as she moves a pot offscreen. “You're always welcome home, sweetheart. But your dad and I are heading to the craft fair in Rosewood next weekend. We're even pushing Sunday dinner back. I'm thinking about doing a little booth next year. Selling some plants and hanging baskets, maybe some succulents. Gah, it’s probably a silly idea.” Her words pick up speed by the end, tumbling one over the other. She shrugs quickly, brushing a hand across her forehead. “Forget I said anything.”

Something flutters and sinks inside me at once. So many emotions hit at once that it’s like being knocked off balance mid-step—confusion, guilt, affection, disappointment. I can't tell if I'm hurt she brushed off my suggestion, or thrown by the vulnerability she shared right after. Or both.

And just like that, the moment—mymoment—is gone.

I swallow my own anxiety, pressing it down beneath my breastbone and tucking it between two ribs. I don’t think she’s intentionally misunderstanding me, but her sudden vulnerability throws me off balance. I’d opened the door a crack, and she walked straight past it into something else entirely.

I sit forward and blow out a slow breath. “Wait, back up. You got invited to have your own booth at an arts and crafts fair?”

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