CHAPTER 12: The Friend Who Disappeared
Chase did not call.
By noon, Ava had checked her phone twenty-seven times, even though Daniel had restricted most of her apps. She did not know what she expected. An apology. A defense. A message saying he was sorry for encouraging her. Maybe even a lie that they would face the backlash together.
Nothing came.
Brielle texted once: My mom says I can’t talk to you for a while. Sorry.
Ava stared at the message until the words blurred. Then she laughed once, bitterly, because she understood exactly what it meant. Brielle was sorry for being associated with the scandal, not sorry for helping cause it.
Later that afternoon, Daniel drove Ava to Maria’s small house on the other side of town. Ava held the apology letter in her lap the whole way.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered when they pulled up.
Daniel turned off the engine. “You can.”
“She hates me.”
“She may. That is not the point.”
Ava looked at him. “Then what is the point?”
“That you stop choosing comfort over responsibility.”
Maria opened the door before they reached the porch. She looked surprised to see Ava without makeup, without a driver, without attitude.
Ava’s voice trembled as she held out the letter. “Maria, I wanted to apologize in person. You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t even have to read this now. But I need you to know I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you.”
Maria took the letter with both hands.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she looked at Daniel. “You brought her.”
Daniel nodded. “She asked to come.”
That was not entirely true. Ava had written the letter; Daniel had insisted on the visit. But Maria understood what he was giving his daughter: a chance to stand inside the discomfort she had created.
Maria turned back to Ava. “When your mother was sick, you used to sit in my kitchen and ask if I thought angels liked pancakes.”
Ava’s eyes filled.
“I remember,” she whispered.
Maria’s face softened, but only slightly. “That little girl is still somewhere in you. Find her before money buries her completely.”
May you like
Ava cried on the porch, not loudly, not dramatically. Maria did not hug her. But she placed one hand on Ava’s shoulder for a brief second before closing the door.
On the drive home, Ava did not check her phone once.
