You can read the previous chapter here!
Heather knocked lightly on the front door once and headed inside. It was getting late. She saw her father sitting in the armchair reading while her mother worked on weaving a small basket from reeds. Those are the reeds from the banks outside, Heather thought. We’re not allowed to pick those. She stared at her mother. Hypocrite.
“Good evening, Heather,” said Cedric as he looked up from his newspaper. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Oh, just thought I’d stop by,” said Heather. “It’s been a while.”
Lily laughed bitterly.
“Well, it’s great to see you,” said Cedric. “You’re doing okay?”
“I’m good,” replied Heather. “You?” She scratched at the back of her neck, which always seemed to get irritated when she visited home.
“We’re good,” said Cedric pleasantly. “Staying busy, of course.”
Lily grunted but didn’t look up.
“I brought you something,” said Heather, reaching into her bag. “Just in case–”
“We don’t want it,” said Lily heavily.
“Lily,” said Cedric. “Come on, now–”
“No,” said Lily simply. “I won’t take something that she stole.”
“Did you steal what you want to give us?” asked Cedric patiently.
“No, of course not,” lied Heather. “I’ve been working hard.”
Lily laughed bitterly again but said nothing.
“What are you doing for work these days?” asked her father. His voice was hopeful.
“I’m a courier,” said Heather.
“Sure you are,” said Lily.
“Mom,” said Heather, “people change. I used to break a lot of rules, but I don’t anymore. I’m really just a courier. I take messages and things to people. It’s honest work.”
“You aren’t capable of honest work,” said Lily.
Heather sighed. So what if she’s right? She’s still wrong to treat me like this.
“Now, Lily,” said Cedric, “give the girl a chance. She’s our one and only.”
“How could you, Cedric?” demanded Lily. “You do remember the last two years? She ran away from home for two weeks? And hasn’t been home for more than a visit since? She’s a stranger now! She’s a street child! All she has is crime! How do you not see this?”
“I only left because you don’t want me here,” said Heather. “You made that clear.”
“Heather, you’re twelve!” cried Lily. “Twelve-year-olds don’t just leave home! They make things right at home. They learn to obey their parents. You, you just . . . you just do whatever you know will hurt me.”
“I learned that from you!” shouted Heather suddenly. “You only do what will hurt me, and you always have!” She turned and ran for the door. She stopped as she wrenched it open and dropped a small coinpurse on the floor. It landed with a few clinks. “Get a real meal today, Dad,” she said, and she left.
She wandered the streets of the city. What a difference the last few years had made; it used to be that she wandered invisibly from place to place, only a figure to be noticed and immediately forgotten, but now, her constant presence out and about made her something of a neighborhood fixture. “Poor little thing,” people often said, or, “what a shame,” when they saw her.
The truth was that she was doing better than she ever had. Taking care of herself had come naturally. She was better fed now, though she had learned to alter her clothes to make herself seem more undernourished when it suited her needs. Pity goes a long way with most people, she thought. Just not Mom. A few of the marketplace’s vendors waved to Heather, and she waved back politely. She scurried on; she intended to get some work done before sundown.
“Hey, Heather,” called a tall guard coming the opposite direction. “How’re the streets today?”
“Mean as ever,” she said, feigning exhaustion. It was very important to her that no one know she was living in relative comfort, or at least, the best living conditions she had ever known. “I got chased by a big dog earlier. I barely got out with my life.”
“It wasn’t Old Man Hitchcock’s mastiff, was it?” laughed the guard. “That dog is as mean as he is massive.”
“I only tried to pet him!” cried Heather dramatically. “His teeth are scary.”
“Well, you be careful of huge hounds, okay?” said the guard with a wink. “We don’t wanna go pulling your little bones out of Old Man Hitchcock’s yard.”
Heather carefully kept from rolling her eyes and put on an alarmed face. “Not that, no!” she cried. “I’ll be careful, I promise.” It gets so old pretending to be my age or younger. She looked up at the adult halfling guard. He was tall for a halfling, standing perhaps twice as high as Heather, who was small even for her age. But I can use it to my advantage. “Well, anyway, you have a good day, Officer Highcastle!” she said cheerfully.
“You too, Miss Turnkey,” said the guard. “Enjoy the sunshine!”
Heather spun in a circle, her face thrown upwards to the sky. “You know I will!” she called.
And with that, she headed off deeper into the city in search of her day’s work.
—
The city seemed especially active today. Vendors shouted a little louder, peoples’ faces seemed a little brighter, and even the air felt a little cleaner. Heather weaved in and out of crowded spaces, using her small size as a way to slide between people and shops without disturbing anyone.
This had been her newest trick. She was publicly known as a street urchin, but a friendly and non-threatening one. This persona had allowed her to shed much of what her mother had created for her; most guards understood Heather to be a rambunctious and fun-loving child who had left behind the criminal ways of her youth. Only a few shopkeepers–mostly food vendors whose wares she had survived on in the past–still held her to be a menace, and even they couldn’t claim that she had done anything wrong in years.
This was in part because Heather had learned that obtaining money rather than directly obtaining food was safer, more reliable, and harder to track. She had begun focusing on gathering funds a short while after setting out on her own, largely because she no longer had a safety net. She reflected on this as she toured the city. Being on my own is the best thing that ever happened to me, she thought. It’s taught me to be more careful. She left the marketplace behind her. Too many eyes, she thought. I need something more . . . subtle.
She spent most of her days on the lowest and middle tiers of the city, making the trip up and down the terraced walkways. The lowest tier was good for simple jobs, small jobs, blending in. The middle tier was where the government was housed, and she sometimes came here for work of a more lucrative type, though these jobs were always riskier. One day, I’ll be ready for the highest tier, she thought, her mind swirling with dreams of the mansions and villas that overlooked the lake. Then, everybody better look out.
She came to the edge of the middle tier and braced herself against the side, looking over and into the middle tier without setting foot on it. She had come to navigate this way around the city by habit, forcing herself to stop and investigate a new situation before jumping into it. The coast looked clear–it was a very normal scene. A crier shouted out new local news, something about a new law that would raise taxes on shopkeepers by some small amount. A caravan of wagons pulled through the square, crates stacked high on their backs. A young halfling girl walked up to a merchant’s table and began to rifle through bolts of fabric. The young girl looked up to the merchant, whose eyes were scanning the square. The young girl braced her arms in a gesture Heather recognized. She’s going to steal something. Heather glanced around; she saw the wagons shifting, the crier approached by a number of merchants, a guard staring at the young girl. Heather leapt into action.
She ran at full speed towards the merchant’s table. “Greta!” she screamed as she ran. “Greta, is that you?” She arrived at the table just as the girl returned her hands to less theft-oriented positions. “Greta,” she said again, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder, “it’s been so long! Here, let me buy you something to eat.”
The vendor eyed Heather suspiciously, then shrugged and went back to scanning the area. Heather, a hand still on the girl’s shoulder, led her away towards a row of restaurants back down the tier’s ramp.
“Uh, what the fuck?” asked the girl once they were away from the merchant.
“What the fuck?” repeated Heather. “There was a guard staring right at you!” She stopped walking just outside an alleyway, stepping towards it. “I just saved your ass.”
“I was fine,” said the girl.
“You were about to spend the night in jail, more like,” said Heather firmly. “Why are you working on the middle tier, anyway? More guards, less merchandise.”
“They already know me on the bottom,” said the girl bitterly.
“Okay, well don’t fix a mistake with a bigger mistake,” said Heather. She considered the girl. She was taller than Heather by several inches, dressed like an artisan. Her cheekbones were tall and angular, more like an elf than a halfling. I like her, but I don’t know why.
The girl slumped her shoulders. “Okay fine, you helped me,” she said. “What’s your deal, anyway?”
Heather blinked a few times. “What do you mean, what’s my deal?”
“Like,” said the girl, lost in thought, “like, who are you? Why did you help me?”
“Oh,” said Heather. “I’m–” She froze. “Wait, can I, like, trust you?”
“I dunno,” said the girl. “Can I trust you?”
Heather shrugged. “I guess maybe we’ll just have to agree to trust each other anyway. I’m Heather. I helped you because . . .” Why did I help her? I coulda gotten caught too. Hmm. “Because you were gonna get caught, and I made a mistake like that when I was younger, and I didn’t want it to happen to you.”
“That’s weird,” said the girl. “I’m Agnes,” she said. “Why’d you call me Greta?”
Heather smiled. “The merchant had to think we knew each other. I just picked a name.”
Agnes nodded tentatively. “Ohhhhhhhh,” she said after a moment. “It was like a little job to save me.”
Heather nodded. “Right.”
“So, wait,” said Agnes. “You lie instead of stealing? How’s that work?”
Heather furrowed her brow. “You mean, how does lying work?”
Agnes shrugged. “I guess so?”
Heather laughed a bit. “You make up a story that makes people want to give you something. Then, you have the thing, and you can get what you need with it.” She shrugged too. “It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the main idea.”
“I think I’ll stick with stealing,” said Agnes. “I’m pretty good at that.”
Heather thought for a minute. “You know what we could do?” she said. “Maybe we could work together. I distract them, and you steal from them. What do you think?”
Agnes frowned. “Sounds like I do most of the work.”
“Not exactly,” said Heather. “I’m distracting and doing watch for guards and talking us out of trouble if something goes wrong.”
Agnes frowned harder. “But I’m the only one who’s in danger.”
Heather shrugged. “It was just an idea. You don’t have to.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Agnes. She stepped out of the alleyway and curtsied to Heather. “Good day, Heather,” she said.
Heather sighed. “Good day, Agnes.”
She’s gonna get into trouble, I just know it. I wish she would let me help her.
Agnes stalked off back up the ramp towards the middle tier. Heather shook her head and followed behind a minute later. By the time Heather made it to the middle tier, Agnes was long gone.
—
Heather made it to the farthest edge of the middle tier of the city, where governmentally-sanctioned businesses stood at the edge of the municipal properties. She reached into her bag and touched the diplomat’s medallion, tracing her finger along the three thistles on its design. Is it time? She looked down at her tiny frame and shook her head. No one would buy me as a governmental official. Not yet, anyway, she thought. She straightened her light blue dress, drew her hair up into a tight top ponytail, and headed inside a moneylender’s.
It was dark inside. The shop had once been a small apartment, she had gathered, and it was spare enough to accommodate the simple business. A frail old woman with a dark grey cloak sat behind the counter, wrapped in thick blankets.
“Hello, Blossom,” said the woman. “Back so soon?”
Heather waved hello in an exaggerated way. “So soon,” she said. “I just need some change.”
“How do you come by these coins?” asked the woman. “And why don’t you care for spending them?”
“I spend them,” replied Heather. “It’s just, when you live on the street, having big coins is kind of dangerous.”
“Of course,” said the old woman. “I forget sometimes that you live on the street. You are so well-kempt,” she added approvingly.
“I do my best to stay clean,” said Heather proudly. “So can you break this for me?” She held a few coins out in her palm.
The old woman took them, examining them in the low light. “Two silver–you want it all in copper?” There was a trace of surprise in her voice.
“Yes please,” said Heather.
“So that’s . . .” the old woman muttered under her breath. “That’s twenty?”
“Oh, and this one,” said Heather, tossing another silver piece on the counter.
“Uh, thirty?” said the woman.
“Actually,” said Heather, “this gold, and I’ll take one silver back.”
“Um,” said the old woman, handing back a silver piece, “one hundred ten?”
“Actually, two more silver,” said Heather, handing over two more silver pieces. “That should do it.”
“Okay, um, one hundred thirty,” said the old woman. She began to rapidly drop copper pieces into a leather pouch, counting as she went. After a minute, she handed the bag to Heather. “There you go, little one,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Heather appreciatively. “See you next time!” She turned and walked calmly out of the store.
Outside, she moved the heavy bag of copper to her knapsack and smiled. One copper piece for one hundred copper pieces. She thought about the copper piece she had passed off as a gold. She’ll be pissed if she ever puts it together. Guess that’s one more place it’s wise to avoid. She slipped into an alleyway nearby and changed into a bright yellow dress, removing the hair tie so that her long brown hair fell around her shoulders.
She walked back towards the ramp down to the bottom tier. Let’s see. I spent two months casing that place and getting nothing for it, and it’s finally paid off. I could even hole up in an inn for a while if the innkeeper lets me. She shook her head. No one is going to give a girl who’s small for twelve her own room. Best to just hide as much as I can and keep at it.
Heather wove her way through the city, skirting wide around the marketplace. This sucks. The marketplace is my favorite, and I’ve burned too many bridges to go back just yet. Kinda the opposite of home–not my favorite, but I have burned too many bridges to go back.
She soon arrived at the hollow in the tree along the street where she had spent most of the last two years. She climbed up the tree and shoved a handful of coins into a smaller hollow that wasn’t visible from the street. She climbed back down and headed for the poorest neighborhoods at the edge of the city. Over the next two hours, she hid over one hundred copper pieces in small caches throughout the city’s lowest tier. Even if one or two get found, I’m set for months, she thought proudly as she tucked the last of the coins into a hole under the porch of an abandoned house. I just made enough to live comfortably for a while. Why don’t I feel better?
She started walking back towards the tree that had begun to seem like home. I hope Agnes is okay, she thought. I know not everybody can lie like me, but she needs practice even as a thief. She’s going to end up seriously screwed if she tries what she tried back there. She stopped herself thinking about it. Why do I care? She’s just some secondhand thief. She’s nobody.
But as she wandered through town, she began to notice that she was hoping to see Agnes again. She fantasized about saving the girl once more from certain danger, and she told herself that Agnes would be grateful this time. And time and time as the afternoon wore on, Heather had to consciously correct her focus so that she was watching for opportunities and guards more than daydreaming.
—
Heather walked through town, trying to decide what to spend the first bit of her new funds on. It’s okay to spend a little bit, she told herself. I can eat for a while, and I can keep working. So what do I want?
She allowed herself to gravitate towards the marketplace. She hadn’t gone there since picking up her new clothes, and she felt that seeing the goods there might spark something. How do I not know what I want? she thought. Have I really been hungry for so long that I’ve forgotten to want anything else?
As she skirted the marketplace, she saw a familiar face. Patrolling the area was Zenna. Heather had seen her several times in the intervening years, but always ducked away before Zenna saw her. Something felt good about her score, though, so she waited until Zenna noticed her and offered a wave. Zenna narrowed her eyes, trying to recognize Heather, and then her eyes opened wide for a moment. Zenna nodded back. She slowed to greet Heather as they passed.
“Morning,” said Zenna plainly.
“Good morning, officer,” said Heather sweetly. “It’s a fine day.”
“Sure,” said Zenna. “Fine enough, anyway.”
“Well, thanks for doing your duty,” said Heather kindly. “It’s good folks like you who make this city great for the rest of us.”
Zenna looked confused for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks, kid,” she said tersely.
“No, no!” cried Heather dramatically. “Thank you.”
Zenna narrowed her eyes again. “Could I talk to you over here?” she asked, gesturing away from the beaten path.
Heather suddenly froze. Is this safe? Am I in trouble? Has word already spread about the quick change? After a while, she followed Zenna.
“What do you want?” said Zenna quietly and sternly.
“Nothing,” said Heather. “I was just saying hi.”
Zenna furrowed her brow. “You’re sure? Just saying hi?”
Heather looked apologetic. “I’m sorry about before. I was just a kid, and I didn’t–”
“You’re still just a kid,” said Zenna.
Heather scowled. “I don’t work like a kid.”
Zenna raised her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you were the one who fleeced that old lady in the municipal district.”
Heather smiled deviously. “I won’t tell you that.”
Zenna rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t go anywhere near there for a while. And since the woman knew you were a street kid, she’s asked that the guards crack down on urchins. You still living in that tree?”
Heather froze. “You know about that?”
Zenna chuckled. “Just about everyone knows about the little girl who sleeps in a tree in the lower tier,” she said. “You thought it was a secret?”
“Nobody ever said anything,” said Heather.
Zenna sighed. “Do I have to teach you everything? Just because people don’t say it to you doesn’t mean that they don’t say it.”
“Oh,” said Heather. “Where do I go?”
“I dunno,” said Zenna, glancing around nervously. “Back to your folks?”
Heather shivered. “No.”
Zenna looked sadly at her. “You got any other options?”
Heather slumped her shoulders. “Not really.”
“Look, kid,” said Zenna, “I’m not your mom. But you can’t go back to your tree if you want to stay out of jail. Be a new person for a while, someone who lives at home and isn’t out on the street. Give it a shot, at least. It’s better than prison.”
Heather considered this. I can sleep at home and live outside. I can go back to Dad and– She stopped short. Can I?
She looked up at Zenna. “Thanks, Zenna. See you round.” She checked the road, timed her exit, and headed out along the road past the marketplace proper.
“Take care, kid,” called Zenna. She watched from the edge of the road as Heather left, her face expressionless.
Heather hustled through the city, taking a long, curving path around the city center and heading back towards her parents’ house, or rather, her house. As she rounded the far edge of the city, she kept her eyes on the area in front of her. This was a habit now, being as observant as possible. It helped with both finding marks and avoiding guards.
Ahead, a familiar face stared greedily down at plates of food. Heather could see Agnes eyeing a mound of pork and steamed vegetables. The cook who was selling the plates wasn’t watching Agnes, which Agnes seemed to be aware of. But the customer next to Agnes, a suspendered old man with a trimmed beard, was watching her, and Agnes seemed unaware of this.
Just like before, Heather thought. Maybe if I can–
But it was too late. Agnes grabbed a plate and moved to run away, but the old bearded man reached out and grabbed her arm, upsetting the contents of the plate. The cook looked down, noticed the scuffle, and shouted, “Guards! Thief!”
Almost instantly, a burly guard emerged from the crowd nearby and fitted manacles to Agnes as she twisted and shrieked. “No!” she cried. “No no no!”
“Take her away,” said the cook viciously.
“Little thief,” muttered the old man, passing Agnes’s arm to the guard.
“Anything to say for yourself, miss?” the guard said to Agnes.
Say you were about to pay, thought Heather. Say you were going to deliver it to your sick grandma. Say you just wanted to look more closely at it. Say something!
“I’m so hungry,” said Agnes.
“Take her away,” said the cook again. “Disgusting.”
Heather winced. Is that what we are? Disgusting?
The guard lifted Agnes’s elbow and pointed her towards the ramp up to the municipal tier. “Let’s go,” he said sternly. “No funny business, now.”
Agnes slumped against the guard but walked forward.
Heather watched almost helplessly for several seconds, then turned and ran.
We can fix this, she thought as she sprinted back the way she came.
—
Heather scanned the streets as she sprinted. Faces, familiar and otherwise, drifted by, many with confused expressions. They want to know why I’m running, she thought. I’m not being suspicious–just weird. Focus. Where is she?
She arrived back at her tree and looked around. It was largely deserted. She began running again.
After she had run long enough to lose her breath entirely, she came to a slow stop and let her ragged breathing rip through her. Time is running out. I have to keep moving.
She dashed again, but slower this time–she hadn’t paused long enough to really catch her breath. She rounded corners, ducked between people, and darted out of the way of passing carts and horses. C’mon, where is she?
She ran further still, her body aching. Have I ever been this tired? she thought. Have I ever run this far before? She turned a corner once again and skidded to a halt. There she is.
Heather took a second to regain normal breathing and approached Zenna quietly.
“Hi again,” she said breathily.
Zenna glanced down, did a double take, and looked concerned. “What is it now?”
“Um,” started Heather, “remember that favor you did for me?”
Zenna scowled. “Why?”
“Could you do it again?” asked Heather.
“You don’t look like you’re in trouble,” said Zenna skeptically.
“Not me,” whispered Heather. “My–this–someone else.”
Zenna shook her head. “Oh hell no,” she said firmly. “That was a one time thing.”
“But she’s going to go to jail!” whispered Heather. “Please!”
Zenna frowned. “I helped you because I could. I can’t get across town, identify your mystery friend, and talk their way out of jailtime. It’s just not possible.”
Heather wagged a finger. “She’s like us,” she said. “She doesn’t deserve to have to–”
“None of us deserve it,” interrupted Zenna. “You don’t get it. We picked a life with no guarantees. I can’t help your friend.”
“She’s not my friend!” said Heather pointedly. “I barely even know her!”
Zenna laughed in disbelief. “So then why are we both risking our necks to help her?”
Heather looked shocked for a second, then furrowed her brow. “If we don’t know her . . . why do we help her?” she said uncertainly.
“Now you’re getting it,” said Zenna. “Look, Heather, right? Run off, stay off the street, and don’t stick your neck out for strangers.” She looked up and scanned the area. “I gotta go. Look, no more visits, okay? Me helping you was a one-time thing. I’m not your mom.”
That’s for sure, thought Heather. “Okay,” she said, resigned. “Sorry to bother you.”
Zenna frowned. “You forget that I play those games too. I’m not falling for it. C’mon, get.”
Heather frowned, slumping her shoulders. “Bye,” she said casually and walked off into the evening.
Heather wandered home in the dying light. I wonder if they’ll even let me stay. She wound around a corner and stepped up to the modest house where she had grown up. The door was closed, and she could hear the faint sounds of silverware on plates. She stepped up, knocked, and stepped back to wait for the door to be answered.
A minute later, the door swung open. Her father stood in the doorway. “Heather!” he said, surprised. “Imagine you coming back so soon. Come in,” he said, stepping aside and holding the door.
“Who is it?” called Lily from inside.
“It’s your daughter,” said Cedric, smiling. “She’s come home for dinner, I think.”
Lily didn’t say anything, but instead made something like a grunting sound.
“Hi, Dad,” said Heather. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, Heather,” said Lily. “What brings you home?”
Heather lowered her head performatively. “I actually was wondering–” She stopped and adjusted her dress. “I was wondering if maybe I could stay here for a while?”
Cedric’s eyebrows raised. “Of course, sweetheart. You’re always welcome.”
“What are you running from?” asked Lily. “You wouldn’t come home unless you were in trouble.”
She may be right, Heather thought, but she can’t know.
“I’m not running,” said Heather. “I know that we’ve fought, and I’m sorry for the things I did. But you can ask anybody out there–I don’t break rules anymore. To be honest, the only reason I left is because I didn’t think you wanted me here anymore.”
“Now that’s not true,” said Cedric warmly. “Of course we want you.”
“You expect it to be over just like that?” asked Lily. “You say it’s all good now, and we just believe you?”
“You can say no,” said Heather. “I can find somewhere else to stay.”
“No, Heather,” said Cedric, “what your mother means is that there will be new rules. Right, Lily?”
Lily folded her arms. “New rules, yes, if you think you’re going to be allowed back. First, strict curfew. You will be home when the sun is down, and you will only be allowed out during sunup when you’re doing something for us.”
That could be complicated, thought Heather. But doable. “I can do that,” she said sweetly.
“Rule two: you quit whatever job you’re pretending is a courier job, and you get honest work. Washing clothes or peeling vegetables,” Lily said. “Or digging ditches for all I care.”
Heather fought a scowl back and smiled. “I’ll let my boss know I can’t be a courier anymore tomorrow,” she said pleasantly.
Lily rolled her eyes. “And the third rule: you start paying rent, or you find somewhere else to live.”
“Lily!” said Cedric, shocked. “She’s twelve. You want her to pay rent?”
“She has only ever talked about how little there is here,” said Lily, closing her eyes. “Let her contribute a bit and see how she feels.”
“A child being hungry does not get fixed by treating her like a little grown-up!” spat Cedric. “This is our child, Lily!”
“And you can be taken in all you want by your child, Cedric,” said Lily with finality. “I will not be made a fool by her any longer.” She turned and faced Heather. “Do you agree to the rules, or will you be sleeping outside again?”
Heather tried to remain expressionless, but she felt overwhelmed. I have to choose between spending the night here or in jail? Which is even the worse one? She sighed unconsciously. Just for a while, she thought after a moment. I can do a while.
“I agree, Mom,” said Heather bravely.
“There’s a mess of fabric on your bed,” said Lily emotionlessly. “Bring it out here. Don’t let it touch the floor.”
“Why is there a bunch of fabric in my room?” asked Heather.
“Because you weren’t using it,” said Lily, “and that room should be useful somehow. It’s been two years since you slept in there, girl–what made you think it was still yours?” She pushed her still-full plate away. “I’ve lost my appetite,” she said to Cedric. She stood from the table. “Welcome home, Heather,” she said sourly.
“Thanks,” said Heather. I had forgotten what she can be like. Not forgotten, maybe, but I forgot how it feels. “Good night,” she added as Lily left the room.
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” said Cedric, tired.
“Thanks, Dad,” said Heather. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” he asked, concern in his voice.
“Sorry for making Mom so upset,” said Heather genuinely. “I know that makes it hard for you.”
Cedric didn’t answer right away, and Heather was staring at the floor. The sound of a muffled sob from her father’s direction stirred her attention.
“No, sweetie,” he said through choked sobs. “You don’t need to be sorry. You don’t ever need to be sorry for that.”
And as Heather curiously watched her father cry, she wondered what made him think that she wasn’t the cause of her mother’s unhappiness
You can read the next chapter here!
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