Six Months Later
The teenager lifted her face toward the cloudless sky. The warmth of the sun kissed her skin, and a soft summer breeze brushed against her cheeks, stirring a faint smile.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
It was hard to believe six months had passed since the nightmare ended. Though she'd escaped that place—survived its cruelty and shadows—something within her still clung to it. The memories that lived within those walls weren't only filled with pain. Some of them… she never wanted to forget.
They had seen her break. Seen her fight. Seen her love.
"Excuse me?"
She opened one eye and found a boy standing in front of her. He smiled kindly, his blond hair catching the light and gleaming like strands of gold. It made her chest tighten—reminded her of someone she once loved. That first love, forever etched in her.
Maybe that's why she had a soft spot for boys with bleached hair.
"Could you help me? I'm new here and kind of lost."
"Of course. What are you looking for?"
As she started giving him directions, further down the sidewalk, Oliver came to a sudden stop. He narrowed his eyes, gaze fixed on her.
Laura and Erik both turned to him, confused.
"What's wrong?" Laura asked.
"More and more guys keep approaching her lately," Oliver muttered, clenching his jaw. "Do mediums have some kind of aura that pulls in every guy within a five-mile radius?"
Laura arched an eyebrow, immediately catching the jealousy in his voice. "Are you jealous right now? Seriously?"
The girl chuckled, amused. "Okay, someone explain this to me—are you two a thing or not?" She looked at Erik, who raised his hands in surrender.
"I have no clue. She keeps saying they're best friends. He gets jealous every time someone talks to her. And their 'friendship' is so intense I refuse to believe it's only platonic."
"I don't know what kind of relationship we're in," Oliver grumbled under his breath. "I can't seem to get through to her."
"Then talk to her honestly!" Laura snapped, exasperated. "It's torture watching you two. One night she drunkenly kisses you and tells you she loves you, and the next day she shuts you out like nothing happened. Something's clearly not right."
"There is something," Oliver muttered darkly. "I feel like… something's stopping her. Like there's a reason she won't let herself get close."
"Well, then," Laura said, squinting playfully at Sara and the blond stranger, "we're going to have to organize another drunken confession night. That's when she's easiest to read."
"I'll get the truth out of her," Erik said, rolling up his sleeves. "I care about her too, but I'm not going to stand by and watch her keep hurting my little brother."
Oliver shot him a glare. "Stop calling me that. It's disgusting. And I'm taller than you."
"But I'm more built," Erik teased.
Laura smirked. "He's not wrong. In my eyes, Oliver is more attractive. When you had that emo mop with bangs, you looked like a lost anime girl. Even Matthew said you were prettier than me."
Erik doubled over with laughter, and Laura joined in.
Oliver groaned. "Great. My brother's handsome in your eyes."
Erik's smirk grew wicked. "Did you ever tell Matthew about the polka dot panties? You left a different pair every time you visited. Pretty sure you had the full rainbow."
Laura's laughter died in her throat. Her jaw dropped.
"You slept with a guy who looks like Yoda?" Erik gasped, faking betrayal. "I've lost all interest in you."
Then his eyes caught a red-haired girl in a short skirt and white sneakers. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and he flashed her a grin. When she smiled back, he strode toward her without a word.
Laura gaped. "Unbelievable."
"That's exactly what I was trying to show you," she huffed, turning to Oliver. "Your brother is a walking pickup line. He's not worth wasting your thoughts on. The only person who really mattered is the one we're going to see today."
A soft smile touched her lips, and Oliver nodded. She was right. Simon had been different. No one had truly replaced him. Even Erik's antics couldn't distract her from that loss.
As they neared the bench where Sara still stood talking to the blond boy, she turned, catching sight of them.
"Oliver? I have something important to tell you," she said.
But Oliver didn't stop. He brushed past her without a word.
"What's with him?" she asked, bewildered.
Laura simply shrugged. "It's Oliver. He always has his strange moods."
*
When Sara returned from the cemetery, she stepped quietly into her room and instantly smiled. The familiar sight of her pink elephant wallpaper brought her unexpected joy. It was untouched. Her father hadn't changed a thing.
She had feared he would.
Victoria had pestered him more than once, trying to convince him to redecorate the space and take it over as her own. But still—despite all her nagging—he refused.
Sara was grateful.
She crossed the room and moved to the window. Just as she brushed aside the curtain, she spotted Oliver turning around in the street. He stood by the gate and, catching her eye, made a small gesture—fingers mimicking a phone to his ear. A peace offering.
Apparently, he was done sulking.
Sara opened the window and leaned out, grinning at him.
He gave a short nod. He'd be calling.
"Oli!" she called, throwing her weight against the sill, nearly tumbling out in the process.
That's when she heard it.
The unmistakable, high-pitched voice of her foster sister.
Victoria—practically radiating sunshine in her yellow dress—came skipping out of the house. Chirping like the world's most charming canary, she rushed toward Oliver with the grace of someone who thought the world revolved around her.
Sara's grin vanished.
She clenched her jaw, visibly irritated. And Oliver noticed, even from across the yard.
"Victoria," he greeted her with the politest smile he could muster. "Good to see you. I'd love to talk, but I'm in a bit of a rush. Need to get home."
He was always polite around her—for one reason only. Her father liked Oliver. And Oliver, determined not to lose favor with Sara's family, kept up the act. Being cordial with the blonde pest was part of the plan. Still, Sara hated every second of it.
"I see you're upset again," Victoria chirped, fluttering her lashes. "Did my sister do something cruel to you? Again?"
Up at the window, Sara let out a low, bitter laugh. She snatched up her phone and furiously typed a message:
"Keep talking to her and you're dead."
Oliver read the message as his phone buzzed. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. No question about what she wanted.
"Victoria, we'll talk another day, okay? Promise. But I really need to go now. Something important came up."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Victoria stood frozen, face turned upward in disbelief, eyes narrowed toward the window.
Sara grinned down and stuck out her tongue triumphantly.
Then she slipped away from the window and sat down on her bed, tossing her phone onto the desk. Her eyes fell on the framed photograph resting beside it.
She picked it up gently.
It was a shot from one of their first wild nights together. In the picture, she lay sprawled across Oliver's back, grinning. Laura had her teeth sunk into Erik's shoulder while he pulled on her hair. Matthew looked on, confused and unimpressed, with one eyebrow arched. Julia was in the background, adjusting her posture at the very last second before the camera flash went off.
They had all gotten so drunk that night. It was perfect.
"All that's missing is you," she whispered, her finger brushing over the glass, tracing the empty space where someone else should've been.
Her eyes shimmered with tears as she looked up—and there he was.
Alan.
Standing silently in the corner of the room, watching her. His eyes were filled with the same gentle sorrow they always held since he died.
"You're still suffering, aren't you?" she asked softly.
But he only smiled at her.
"How long will you have to wander this world before you find peace?"
He gave a helpless shrug, as if to say: I don't know.
She rose from the bed, her eyes wet, and walked toward him. Her hand trembled as she lifted it, reaching out. But before her fingers could brush his face, she stopped—frozen mid-air by the cruel reminder that he wasn't really there.
She couldn't touch him. Only see him.
"Someday… I'll join you," she whispered. "We'll all meet again. In one place."
Their eyes locked.
They smiled at each other through the silence.
As if this might be the last time.