Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
You are reading Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards, Chapter 12: Chapter 12. Read more chapters of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards.
"The first thing he said was 'congratulations.' But then he said, 'God, I can't stop thinking about that little girl who got abandoned. She must be going through hell.'"
Katherine's voice got smaller, more fragile: "Mom never talks about what happened before they found me. My stepfather used to... he'd come into my room at night. When I finally told Mom, she said I was lying, that I'd asked for it. Every time she lost money at the casino, she'd put out her cigarettes on my arms."
Her lashes cast dark shadows as tears fell: "Timothy was the first person to treat me like I wasn't broken. So when you two broke up, I basically threw myself at him."
"I was so fucking desperate. I begged him to let me help him forget you. I told him to use me as his stand-in, his distraction, whatever he needed."
She forced out a bitter laugh: "And for five years, I thought it worked. But he actually never loved me. I think he just figured if he couldn't have you, it didn't matter who he ended up with."
"Skylar, I'm telling you this because... I don't want either of you to live with regrets."
My throat felt like it was full of broken glass. I couldn't find a single word to comfort her.
Because all that pain, all that trauma—it should have been mine. I was the one who was supposed to suffer while she lived in luxury.
I'd never blamed Mrs. Farrell for hating me. Never blamed Katherine for existing.
But now I felt like I was stealing her light all over again, even while I was dying.
After Katherine left, fireworks started exploding outside—New Year's Day celebrations.
I dragged myself to the window, my legs barely holding me up.
Timothy showed up behind me out of nowhere.
"Look, it's snowing again."
The world outside was turning white, snowflakes getting bigger and thicker.
I turned around and saw him holding a strawberry cake.
It hit me like a punch to the gut—sophomore year, New Year's Day. Timothy had surprised me with a strawberry cake just like this one. All the bakeries were closed, so he'd spent hours learning to make it from scratch, following YouTube videos until he got it right.
I picked up the spoon with shaking hands and tasted the frosting.
Sweet cream melted on my tongue, exactly how I remembered.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I forced my voice to sound casual: "How much do I owe you for this? I'll have Jayden send you the money."
Timothy watched me for what felt like forever before saying quietly: "Skylar, I'm a detective."
*Meaning you're a terrible liar,* his tone implied.
I tried to smile, but it felt like my face was cracking. Then he added, his voice carefully controlled: "I'm a cop, Skylar. I can't just walk away from someone who's dying."
That night, Timothy stayed awake with me, watching "Selena + Chef" until dawn.
After that, everything went downhill fast. I slept more and more, my moments of clarity getting shorter and rarer.
Sometimes I'd illusion—reaching for things that weren't there, like I was playing with invisible threads. Rachel would grab my hands during those episodes, tears dripping onto my skin.
"Skylar, just hang on a little longer. Stay with me, please?"
Her voice was raw with desperation, like she was trying to hold me to this world through sheer force of will.
*They say when people start grabbing at air like that, they're playing with umbilical cords, getting ready to be born into whatever comes next.*
Jayden's visits became daily, sometimes twice daily.
Timothy usually just sat quietly in the corner, playing simple card games with me when I was conscious enough, reading to me when I wasn't.
Eventually I couldn't even hold cards anymore. My hands were too weak, too shaky.
January 7th.
As I drifted off that night, I could hear Timothy and Rachel arguing about something in hushed, angry voices, but my consciousness was too foggy to make sense of it.
January 9th.
Maybe it was my body's last rally—I actually felt somewhat human for a few hours.
I even managed to eat an entire bowl of ravioli that Jayden brought from the hospital cafeteria.
Timothy didn't show up until past noon. When he walked in, he pulled something from his coat pocket.
A cream-colored wedding invitation with elegant script.
He looked at me with this carefully neutral expression, his voice forced into casual lightness: "Skylar, I want you at my wedding. I'll set aside a table just for you. You can sit at the ex-girlfriend table."
Katherine's voice got smaller, more fragile: "Mom never talks about what happened before they found me. My stepfather used to... he'd come into my room at night. When I finally told Mom, she said I was lying, that I'd asked for it. Every time she lost money at the casino, she'd put out her cigarettes on my arms."
Her lashes cast dark shadows as tears fell: "Timothy was the first person to treat me like I wasn't broken. So when you two broke up, I basically threw myself at him."
"I was so fucking desperate. I begged him to let me help him forget you. I told him to use me as his stand-in, his distraction, whatever he needed."
She forced out a bitter laugh: "And for five years, I thought it worked. But he actually never loved me. I think he just figured if he couldn't have you, it didn't matter who he ended up with."
"Skylar, I'm telling you this because... I don't want either of you to live with regrets."
My throat felt like it was full of broken glass. I couldn't find a single word to comfort her.
Because all that pain, all that trauma—it should have been mine. I was the one who was supposed to suffer while she lived in luxury.
I'd never blamed Mrs. Farrell for hating me. Never blamed Katherine for existing.
But now I felt like I was stealing her light all over again, even while I was dying.
After Katherine left, fireworks started exploding outside—New Year's Day celebrations.
I dragged myself to the window, my legs barely holding me up.
Timothy showed up behind me out of nowhere.
"Look, it's snowing again."
The world outside was turning white, snowflakes getting bigger and thicker.
I turned around and saw him holding a strawberry cake.
It hit me like a punch to the gut—sophomore year, New Year's Day. Timothy had surprised me with a strawberry cake just like this one. All the bakeries were closed, so he'd spent hours learning to make it from scratch, following YouTube videos until he got it right.
I picked up the spoon with shaking hands and tasted the frosting.
Sweet cream melted on my tongue, exactly how I remembered.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I forced my voice to sound casual: "How much do I owe you for this? I'll have Jayden send you the money."
Timothy watched me for what felt like forever before saying quietly: "Skylar, I'm a detective."
*Meaning you're a terrible liar,* his tone implied.
I tried to smile, but it felt like my face was cracking. Then he added, his voice carefully controlled: "I'm a cop, Skylar. I can't just walk away from someone who's dying."
That night, Timothy stayed awake with me, watching "Selena + Chef" until dawn.
After that, everything went downhill fast. I slept more and more, my moments of clarity getting shorter and rarer.
Sometimes I'd illusion—reaching for things that weren't there, like I was playing with invisible threads. Rachel would grab my hands during those episodes, tears dripping onto my skin.
"Skylar, just hang on a little longer. Stay with me, please?"
Her voice was raw with desperation, like she was trying to hold me to this world through sheer force of will.
*They say when people start grabbing at air like that, they're playing with umbilical cords, getting ready to be born into whatever comes next.*
Jayden's visits became daily, sometimes twice daily.
Timothy usually just sat quietly in the corner, playing simple card games with me when I was conscious enough, reading to me when I wasn't.
Eventually I couldn't even hold cards anymore. My hands were too weak, too shaky.
January 7th.
As I drifted off that night, I could hear Timothy and Rachel arguing about something in hushed, angry voices, but my consciousness was too foggy to make sense of it.
January 9th.
Maybe it was my body's last rally—I actually felt somewhat human for a few hours.
I even managed to eat an entire bowl of ravioli that Jayden brought from the hospital cafeteria.
Timothy didn't show up until past noon. When he walked in, he pulled something from his coat pocket.
A cream-colored wedding invitation with elegant script.
He looked at me with this carefully neutral expression, his voice forced into casual lightness: "Skylar, I want you at my wedding. I'll set aside a table just for you. You can sit at the ex-girlfriend table."
End of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards book page.