Chapter 3: Goodbye Isn’t the End

In the Thompsons’ parlor, the silence was so deep you could hear the clock ticking.

It was one of those heavy, old grandfather clocks, always just a little off. Its ticking seemed to underline every painful second. Outside, kids played hopscotch on the sidewalk, their shouts muffled by the thick curtains. The parlor smelled faintly of rosewater and furniture polish. Sunlight painted dusty stripes across the faded rug, and somewhere in the walls, a pipe groaned as the heat kicked on—a scent that always reminded me of my mother’s good days.

Mrs. Thompson was nearly in tears, holding my broken locket in her hands.

She cradled it as if she could will the cracks away. Her hands, usually so sure and capable, trembled. The locket glittered in the sunlight, broken but still beautiful. It was the first time I’d ever seen her this close to crying—her eyes red, lips pressed together to keep from sobbing.

“Aunt Lisa, please don’t cry. If Mom knew I’d made you so sad, she’d probably scold me.”

Calling her ‘Aunt Lisa’ was the closest I could get to family. My voice shook, and I forced a watery smile, trying to lighten the moment the way Mom would have. I wanted to be strong, but the words came out softer than I meant.

“Good girl, you’ve been through too much.”

Mrs. Thompson pulled me into a hug. As if making up her mind, she said:

Her perfume was familiar—soft, comforting, the kind of scent that lingered long after she left a room. She squeezed me tight, smoothing my hair. When she spoke, her voice carried that gentle authority that always made me listen.

“You and Caleb? That was always just something your mom and I talked about. Nothing set in stone, honey.”

“If you want to go back to Montana to your grandmother, I won’t stop you.”

“She’d never let anything bad happen to you.”

“These years, I’ve been selfish, wanting to keep you here in Maple Heights.”

“But once you leave, I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.”

“My birthday’s next month. Stay just one more month.”

Her words were careful, a little fragile. She tried to keep her composure, but I could see the longing in her eyes. Even as she let me go, she wanted to hold on a little longer. The house felt smaller, the walls pressing in, filled with memories of laughter and quiet mornings over coffee.

I held Mrs. Thompson’s hand, nodded quietly, and let the tears fall.

The tears started slow, then spilled over. We stood together in the soft afternoon light, a tangle of old grief and new beginnings. The clock kept ticking, marking the start of something neither of us could quite name.

It should have been a sad thing, but it felt like a weight had finally been lifted off my shoulders.

My breath came easier. I’d always tried so hard to live up to Maple Heights’ expectations—to be the perfect daughter, the perfect friend, the perfect maybe-fiancée. Now, with the promise gone, I felt lighter than I had in years. For once, the future seemed wide open.

Maggie looked at the two of us crying and teased gently:

“There’s still time, Miss Natalie. Take a good look at the boys in town. If you see one you like, you can ask the mayor for an introduction.”

Maggie winked, her voice warm and teasing. “Who knows, maybe there’s a quarterback or two who’d like a girl who can hold her own.” It made us both laugh through our tears—a small kindness that made the heaviness a little easier to bear.