Chapter 8
A month went by.
A quiet month.
No more phone calls from my parents.
No more tabloid headlines.
No more Ethan or Charlotte showing up unannounced.
Jake and I fell back into our old routine.
We worked at the auto shop during the day.
We came home to the cottage at night, cooked dinner together, watched bad TV, fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Jake bought the empty storefront downtown I’d been eyeing for years—the one with the big bay windows, perfect for a bookstore.
He didn’t just buy it and hand it to me.
We renovated it together.
Sanded the floors. Painted the walls. Built the bookshelves from scratch.
It was hard work.
My back ached. My nails were always dirty. I got paint in my hair more times than I could count.
But it was ours.
Every nail. Every coat of paint. Every shelf.
One afternoon, we were taking a break, sitting on the floor of the empty store, drinking lemonade, when my phone rang.
It was a number I didn’t recognize.
I hesitated, then answered.
“Mia?” a voice said, small and tentative.
It was Charlotte.
I tensed, sitting up straight.
Jake looked over, his face alert.
“Hi,” I said, cautious.
“I’m sorry to call,” she said. “I know you said you didn’t want to speak to me. But I have news. And I thought… I thought you should hear it from me first.”
I waited.
“Ethan was arrested this morning,” she said. “Fraud. Embezzlement. All the stuff Jake said he was doing. The police have all the records. He’s looking at ten years, maybe more.”
I didn’t say anything.
I wasn’t surprised.
“I got a job,” she said, rushing on, like she was scared I’d hang up. “At a small design firm. Entry level. I answer phones. I make coffee. I make less in a week than I used to spend on a single manicure. But it’s honest. And I’m good at it. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m earning something.”
She paused.
“I’m moving to a small apartment on the west side,” she said. “No doorman. No fancy views. But it’s mine. I’m paying for it all by myself.”
“That’s good, Charlotte,” I said, and I meant it.
“I’ve been going to therapy,” she said, her voice wobbly. “Twice a week. I’m working on… all of it. The jealousy. The anger. The way I treated you. I know I have a long way to go. But I’m trying.”
She took a deep breath.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” she said. “And I don’t expect us to be sisters again. Not right away. Maybe not ever. But I wanted you to know I’m trying to be better. For me. And… if you ever want to get coffee. Or just talk. I’m here. No pressure. No agendas. Just… me.”
She hung up before I could answer.
I stared at my phone for a long time.
Jake squeezed my knee.
“You okay?” he said.
I nodded.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think so.”
Two weeks later, I called her back.
We met at a small diner on the west side, the kind with vinyl booths and coffee that tastes like burnt cardboard.
She was already there when I arrived, sitting in a booth by the window, wearing a simple button-down shirt and jeans, no jewelry, no designer bag.
She looked different.
Lighter.
Like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
“Hi,” she said, smiling a small, nervous smile when I sat down.
“Hi,” I said.
We ordered coffee, and for the first ten minutes, we just sat there, awkward, not knowing what to say.
Then she reached into her bag, pulled out a small box, and slid it across the table to me.
I opened it.
Inside was a tiny, silver book charm on a thin chain.
“I saw it and thought of you,” she said, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “For your bookstore. I know it’s not much. But I wanted to get you something. To say I’m sorry. Again.”
I picked up the necklace, turning it over in my fingers.
It was simple.
Cheap, probably.
But it was the first thing she’d ever given me that didn’t feel like an afterthought.
“Thank you,” I said, putting it on.
She smiled, a real one this time, and I saw a flash of the sister I’d loved when we were kids.
We talked for two hours.
About her job. About the bookstore. About how weird it was to not have Mom and Dad calling every five minutes telling her what to do.
She didn’t ask for anything.
No money. No favors. No help with Ethan.
She just talked.
And for the first time in years, it didn’t feel like she was competing with me.
It just felt like… sisters.
When we left the diner, she hugged me.
It was awkward at first.
Stiff.
Then I hugged her back.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she said, her voice wobbly.
“Me too,” I said.
I walked to my car, and Jake was waiting for me, leaning against the hood, a small smile on his face.
“Good?” he said.
I nodded, getting in.
“Good,” I said.
I looked out the window as we drove away, watching Charlotte walk down the street, her head held high.
We had a long way to go.
A lot of hurt to work through.
May you like
A lot of trust to rebuild.
But for the first time in my life, I thought maybe… just maybe… we could be okay.
