Page 18 of Of Heather and Thistle

T he next few days passed in a whirlwind of preparation, each task chipping away at Heather’s nerves and building anticipation.

Her laptop glowed in the dim apartment as she sat at her desk late one evening, staring at a list of flight options.

She’d always gone straight to economy—no questions, no extras.

Just good enough. But her finger hovered over the screen, hesitating.

And then, for once, she didn’t settle. She booked first class.

Her mother had always believed in treating life as an adventure, finding little joy even when things were difficult.

“We deserve to make room for comfort, Lammie,” she’d said, nudging Heather’s shoulder as they wound through the Appalachian hills in a rented RV, their laughter echoing through the trees.

Heather drummed her fingers against the desk, her mother’s words echoing in her mind. She pressed confirm. It felt extravagant, almost absurd—but that’s what the trust fund was for. A chance to leap into something new. When the confirmation email hit her inbox, a small smile tugged at her lips.

Byrdie padded into the room, her tri-colored tail swishing. She hopped into Heather’s lap, purring. Heather stroked her soft fur, heart tightening at the thought she’d been avoiding—should she bring her to Scotland?

The practical answer was no. Long flight. New environment. Too much change. But the emotional one? Unshakable. Byrdie had been her constant, her quietest comfort.

The next day, Heather researched pet travel, made the calls, and picked up a soft-sided carrier from the store. Byrdie was coming. They belonged together—whatever lay ahead.

Between packing and sorting her apartment, Heather paused often to pet her or whisper about their upcoming adventure.

“Glenoran House…” she said softly one afternoon, sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor with an open suitcase in front of her. Byrdie blinked up at her with green eyes that were calm and steady. “…It sounds like a whole other world, Byrdie. But you and me—we’ll figure it out together.”

Every day, Heather’s apprehension was slowly replaced by her growing sense of purpose. Byrdie would be right there with her, a little piece of home as she stepped into the unknown.

She moved to sit on her bed and Byrdie curled up beside her, purring softly. Her phone rested on her lap with its blank message screen glowing. For days, she’d wrestled with the decision about contacting Ivy; whether to say something or whether to walk away completely.

Ivy had been in her life for so long, woven into her days like a second skin. Unraveling from her felt unnatural .

Painful.

But the truth was, they’d been fraying for a long time.

Sam was just the final, unforgivable thread.

Heather hadn’t spoken to Ivy since that night—not when the apology texts poured in, tangled with excuses.

Not when Mark suggested she respond for her own closure.

And not when the ache of loss settled in her chest like a second heartbeat.

Because Ivy had made her a joke. A prize to be bartered. She’d laughed while Heather stood there, blindsided and humiliated.

But saying goodbye still felt impossible. Silence had become its own kind of closure—sharp and cold.

And yet, the closer she got to leaving, the heavier those unsent words became.

How long would she be in Scotland?

Days? Weeks? Months?

Despite the betrayal—despite knowing she’d never truly mattered—leaving without a word felt unfinished. It wasn’t a story she was ready to slam shut, even if she had no energy left to rewrite it.

Heather bit her lip, fingers hovering over her phone. Ivy had shattered her—but Ivy had also been there through her father’s worst nights. She’d held Heather when the grief of losing her mother was too heavy to bear.

She’d been her best friend.

And even if they never spoke again, even if it stayed broken forever… Ivy had been a part of her life for too long to leave behind without saying anything at all.

Heather inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly. This wasn’t a reconciliation. It was closure. Quiet… necessary… final .

It was about walking away without looking back and about letting go so that she could finally step forward in life.

Her hands trembled slightly as she started typing, cautious, deliberate:

Hi, Ivy. I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving for Scotland tomorrow. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I felt like I should tell you. Things between us are still hard for me to process, but I wanted to say goodbye. Take care.

She read it twice. Then a third time. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t hopeful. It wasn’t a door left open. It was just… the truth. She pressed send. And let it go.

Her phone buzzed almost instantly. She barely had time to unlock the screen before Ivy’s name flashed again. Heather hesitated to look. She knew it wouldn’t be a heartfelt goodbye. But still, some part of her needed to see it, so with a deep breath, she opened it.

“Oh, so you finally decided to say something. How thoughtful.”

Heather’s stomach tightened. …of course.

A beat later, another text came through—petty, venomous.

“Enjoy your fancy castle life. Try not to get trampled by a cow or sheep or whatever.”

Heather exhaled slowly, willing herself to stay calm. Another buzz, another message. This time, it cut deeper.

“ And next time you decide to go crying to Mark, maybe remember that not everything is about you. Hope you two are happy gossiping about me.”

There it was . Ivy wasn’t just mad that she was leaving. Ivy was mad that Mark knew—mad that he’d called her out. Mad that, for once, someone had taken Heather’s side .

Her chest ached—not with guilt, but with something sharper. Final. Inevitable. And surprisingly, she didn’t feel the need to reply.

It wasn’t just the words. It was how fast Ivy responded like she’d been waiting to twist the knife, like the idea of Heather moving on was something she couldn’t stand.

An unwanted feeling crept in—that old ache of wanting Ivy’s approval, even when Ivy didn’t deserve to give it.

For so long, Ivy had been the center of their friendship.

The one who shined, who dictated the rules, who decided what mattered and what didn’t.

And Heather had always been the supporting role.

Even now, even after everything, Ivy still thought she had the power to reduce Heather to nothing with a few careless words.

Heather’s fingers curled tightly around her phone. And then—She laughed.

It was a quiet, bitter, incredulous laugh. Because this was pathetic. Ivy wasn’t hurt; Ivy wasn’t heartbroken. She was pissed that Heather had the audacity to leave.

Heather set the phone down firmly, flipping it face-down. She wasn’t falling into this again. She wasn’t letting Ivy’s words poison her excitement, her choices, and her future. Because Ivy would never get it. She never had. She never would.

Heather took a deep breath now, pressing her palms against her thighs, grounding herself.

Engaging with Ivy would only drag her back into the same exhausting cycle.

Ivy didn’t think she’d done anything wrong, and she never would.

There was no point in a losing battle. Heather had said goodbye. And that was all she needed to do.

Byrdie stretched beside her, her soft purr filling the silence. Heather reached out, scratching behind Byrdie’s ears, finding comfort in the steady, unbothered presence of her cat.

“That’s enough of that…” she muttered, more to herself than to Byrdie.

Heather didn’t even bother checking if Ivy responded again. Instead, she stood, crossing the room to her half-packed suitcase.

Because Scotland was waiting.

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t waiting on someone else to decide her worth.

She was deciding it for herself.

And that felt better than any apology Ivy could have given.

Heather stood and knelt by her suitcase, smoothing out a soft cable-knit sweater. Morning would come fast, and she still had too much to do. Her packing had been slow, deliberate—each item a quiet act of faith. In comfort. In readiness. In herself.

She folded the new jeans and tucked them beside her Barbour jacket—armor for the Highlands. A few scarves followed, rich greens and deep burgundies that reminded her of autumn in Millhaven.

She paused at the shopping bag from the lingerie boutique. The delicate lace and satin inside felt like more than just indulgence. They were tokens of something new. Of feeling beautiful for herself.

Heather folded the blush satin first, then the timeless black lace, then the embroidered bralette and matching panties—each piece making her feel soft, feminine, seen .

She traced the cashmere robe with her fingers, smiling as she imagined slipping it on in a grand old room at Glenoran. A quiet thrill rose in her chest.

These weren’t just clothes. They were a promise—to embrace change, to believe she was worth the effort.

She stood and stretched, then wandered toward the window. Outside, the city moved on as if nothing was changing. But everything was.

Back at her dresser, she added a few essentials—pajamas, plain undergarments, fuzzy socks. She glanced at Byrdie’s carrier near the door. She had considered leaving her behind, just until she got settled. But she couldn’t. Byrdie had to come.

For a moment, doubt whispered.

What if I’m making a mistake?

What if I don’t belong?

What if I regret leaving?

No.

She’d spent too long waiting for permission to live. Doubt would always whisper—but she didn’t have to listen anymore.

Scotland was a beginning. And beginnings required a leap.

Her thoughts drifted to Glenoran House—the solicitor, the wild hills, the version of herself waiting somewhere beyond them. The grief didn’t feel so sharp anymore. It had softened into something else. Something like hope.

She zipped the suitcase and picked up the trust fund paperwork beside her passport. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind— History matters. Not just in books, but in the stories we carry.

She would have loved this, wouldn’t she?

The thought settled in Heather’s chest—bittersweet, but warm. For the first time, she truly believed her mother would be proud.

“New country, new me, Byrdie.” Heather smiled.

The cat let out a soft meow from the bed, as if questioning her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Heather laughed. “You’re coming too.”