Page 19

I sat down next to Olivia, the plush chair cushion yielding to my weight. The scent of salt and hibiscus breezed through the room. I needed her to see me, not just as an FBI agent or a worried mother.

"Olivia," I began, my voice even, "when I was about your age, I faced something… it nearly broke me."

Her attention drifted from her hands, a slight tilt of her head. It was the smallest window, but enough for me to slip through.

“Back then, I had a friend. He was more than a friend, really." My heart hammered from the emotions I'd locked away. "You know the story, or at least some of it. It was actually Matt. We were childhood friends."

Her eyebrows knitted together, curious despite herself.

"Everyone thought we were just close. Best friends till the end, you know. But it was more. I already had feelings for him, but I was terrified." I paused, swallowing hard. "Terrified of him not feeling the same, of losing him as a friend."

"Mom…." Olivia's voice was a feather, soft and uncertain.

"Olivia, I buried those feelings so deep that I convinced myself they weren't real." I reached across, my fingertips brushing hers. "I left town and met your dad. It wasn’t until I returned many years later that I finally reconnected with those feelings. They had been there all the time. But we lost many years."

She looked up now, her guard momentarily down. Eyes wide, searching mine for the truth.

"Did you ever tell him back then?" Her voice was stronger, emboldened by my admission. “How you felt?”

"No." A heavy word laden with sadness. "And that's my biggest regret."

"Because you were scared?"

"Because I let fear dictate my life." I held her gaze, steady as the ground beneath us. "Don't make my mistakes, Olivia. Don't live with 'what ifs.'"

Her breath caught, and the flicker in her eyes ignited a spark of understanding. The connection was tenuous, a thread strung between us, but it was there.

"Mom, I—" she started, then stopped, the words catching in her throat.

"Whatever it is," I encouraged, "you can tell me."

Olivia's fingers twitched, the only tell of her inner chaos. "I just… I don't know where to start or how to explain it.

"Start anywhere," I replied, my voice low. "Start with one thing."

She bit her lip, the quiet stretching taut between us.

"Mark and I—we…" she faltered, and her eyes darted away.

"Olivia." My tone sharpened, not with reprimand, but with urgency. "Trust me."

Her gaze snapped back, meeting mine. "We walked the beach every night. We talked and goofed around like old times. I promise that’s all it was—us being like we used to be together. And then?—"

"Then what?" I pressed, leaning closer.

"Someone saw us!" The words spilled out, frantic. "They threatened Mark."

"Who?" My mind raced, wheels turning, piecing together shadows of the threat. “Why would they threaten him?”

"I don't know!" Her distress was palpable, her voice rising, thin and strained. “He wouldn’t tell me who it was or why. But it made him really worried for some reason.”

"Shh." I reached out, stilling her trembling hands with my own. The contact grounded us both. "We'll find out."

"But it's all messed up now!" Tears brimmed in her eyes, her fear naked and raw. “People think I killed him!”

"Listen to me," I said, every word deliberate, honed by years of crises. "Nothing is beyond repair."

She swallowed hard, nodding, clinging to the promise like a lifeline.

"Mom, I'm scared," she whispered.

"Scared is okay," I reassured her, my voice even. "Only when we’re scared can we do something brave. It wouldn’t require courage if we weren’t afraid to do it."

Her breath hitched, and she nodded, a mute agreement to the unspoken pact between us. I felt my heart ache for her and knew that no matter the darkness lurking, no matter what truths were hidden in silence, I would shield her.