TW: The topic of infertility and the struggle to conceive is briefly mentioned in this chapter. In no way have I intended to hurt anyone, but if this may be too sensitive for you, please look for the black asterisks (*)
A/N: Dress is worn with black combat boots
The longest walk home that any parent will ever take is the one after their child has "run" ahead of them. - Unknown
As I stood outside the church, watching the mourners gather for Miranda's funeral, a heavy weight settled in my chest.
Snippets of conversation floated by—murmured condolences, shared memories of the girl who had once ruled our lives. I felt disconnected, as if the scene played out on a screen rather than in real life.
Miranda ruled the hallways, her laughter ringing out, her loyal followers, always trailing behind, hanging on her every word.
Fiddling with the hem of my black dress, I glanced at the crowd. Faces were somber, eyes red from crying, but I couldn't connect. Each familiar face—classmates, friends, and even enemies—was a reminder of what I had missed. The service wouldn't start for another half hour, but my mom insisted we arrive early.
I watched as people exchanged hugs, their tears pouring down their faces. They shared stories of Miranda's laughter, her charm, and the light she brought into their lives. Yet, I stood apart, like a ghost in the shadows.
What was I supposed to say? I had never been part of her world.
Sighing, I made my way inside.
After a few seconds of scanning the room, I spotted Jon at the front, near the casket. He stood with his parents, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as they spoke with Miranda's mother. They were likely offering their condolences. Jon must have sensed my gaze, because he looked up, his eyes locking onto mine. A wide smile broke across his face, dimples deepening his handsome features.
"Hey, Mom," I said, interrupting her chat with Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher. "I'm going to talk with Jon."
"Alright, sweetheart. I'll find our seats when I'm done here."
"Okay. Bye, Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher. Have a nice evening."
As I walked away, I caught Mrs. Thatcher's voice behind me. "Your daughter has grown up to be a wonderful and beautiful young woman. You two did a great job with her."
Jon started to walk toward me. Just before we were face-to-face, a long mane of white-blonde hair whipped across my face. Only two people in town had hair that bright—Kirsty and her mom, Karen.
But, as I looked up, I realized it was definitely Kirsty. She stood there, her icy blue eyes glaring at me with contempt.
"Look who it is," she sneered. "Little Harley Masterson, always sticking her nose where it doesn't belong."
I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to shrink away. "What do you want, Kirsty?"
Her smirk widened, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Oh, nothing much. Just thought I'd remind you to stay out of things that don't concern you."
My mouth opened, ready to fire back. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, and my chest tightened. Just then, a hand landed on my shoulder.
The familiar hair color meant it could only be Karen.
"Harley Masterson," she greeted me coolly. "I hoped you would heed my advice."
A chill crawled down my spine as she circled around me.
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The Vanishing Girls Of Willow Creek (Willow Creek, #1)
Mystery / Thriller*Edited* In the small town of Willow Creek, nestled among the rolling hills and whispering trees, lies a dark secret that has haunted its residents for generations. Over the years, more than a hundred young women and girls have vanished without a tr...
