The Vanishing Girls Of Willow Creek (Willow Creek, #1)

Chapter Twenty Three

The harsh reality of grief is that once the funeral is over, people move on with their lives, leaving you all alone to walk this lonely and painful journey of grief. Little does anyone care that for that griever, every day is a new battle to start being strong again. - Narin Grewal

When I arrived home after the funeral, I found myself doing something I never thought I would.

Looking through last year's yearbook.

I laid on my bed, pages rustling beneath my fingers.

The funeral that day had left me numb, like I was walking through a fog. But then I saw Miranda's smiling face in those photographs. It hit me hard—a bittersweet wave of emotions rolled in. Her smile, so bright, yet it never quite reached her eyes.

I noticed that her smile never quite reached her eyes unless she was with Jackson. They were inseparable.

I remembered how they'd lean into each other, sharing whispers and giggles that echoed in the hallways.

Miranda would roll her eyes at his jokes, but her lips curled up just enough to betray her amusement. Jackson would throw his head back, laughter spilling out.

It reminded me of Jon and me. We had our own unspoken language, too. A look, a nod, and we were in sync.

Lost in my thoughts, I jumped at the quiet rapping on the window. I turned to see Jonathan outside, his jacket held over his head, a makeshift shield against the relentless rain. "Can you open the window, please?" His voice was muffled, strained by the glass barrier.

I hurried over, unsealing the latch and pushing it open. He climbed inside, water droplets clinging to his hair, making him look like a soggy puppy. "Hurry in. Before it soaks my floor," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, glancing down at his wet footprints with a sheepish grin.

"It's fine. Just hang your jacket in the washroom," I instructed, waving him off before retreating to my bed, where the abandoned yearbook laid open.

Jonathan followed, his movements slightly awkward as he dripped water onto the floor.

After doing as he was told, he plopped down beside me. "So, what were you looking at? Did you find your parents' yearbook?"

I shook my head, slapping my forehead. "I totally forgot," I admitted, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

Jon's gaze fell on the open yearbook, landing on a page with Jackson and Miranda's smiling faces. "Is this about that girl who was talking to you at the graveyard?" he asked, his voice dropping to a softer tone, as if he understood the weight of the topic.

I nodded, biting my lip. "Her name is Amy. She's Miranda's cousin."

"What caused her to come over to you?" Jon pressed, leaning in, his body language shifting to show he was all ears.

"She told me that Miranda mentioned me quite a bit over the years," I revealed.

Jon's eyebrows shot up. "What? How much did you two not get along?"

"That's what I thought too," I murmured, staring at the floor. "But Amy said something unexpected. She told me that Miranda never actually hated me."

Jon's eyes widened. "Well, she sure acted like she did."

"Amy said it was Kirsty who influenced her to treat me badly all those years." My voice dropped to a near whisper, a strange mix of relief and sadness washing over me. "Miranda envied me."

"Envied you?" Jon echoed, his eyes wide, disbelief written all over his face.

"Yes," I affirmed, a bittersweet smile creeping onto my lips. "Apparently, she admired my ability to be true to myself and not care about others' opinions."