Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards - Chapter 24: Chapter 24
You are reading Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards, Chapter 24: Chapter 24. Read more chapters of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards.
Katherine
I went to Timothy's funeral.
Only a handful of his fellow officers showed up. I quietly placed sunflowers—Skylar's favorites—beside his casket.
In his portrait, he wore his police uniform with that serious expression he'd developed toward the end, like he'd completely forgotten how to smile.
I tried to memorize every detail of his face.
But the longer I stared, the more my composure fell apart, until tears were pouring down my cheeks.
I never blamed Timothy for any of it.
For five years, I'd been drowning in guilt.
When Timothy finally exposed the truth, what I felt most was relief.
Like a thief who'd stolen something precious and lived in terror, finally able to return what was never mine.
That kind of crushing relief.
At the funeral, I saw Mrs. Farrell.
Two years had passed, and the woman who used to be such an elegant socialite now had completely white hair.
Her husband had died of leukemia the month before. She'd bought back the Lakecrest house and was living there alone.
She told me she was there to see Timothy off on Skylar's behalf.
I slipped away without saying anything.
Every year on Skylar's anniversary, I visit both their graves. Sunflowers for each of them—it was what she would have wanted. Someone who loved beauty the way Skylar did deserved flowers that reminded you of sunshine.
I saw Mrs. Farrell again three years later.
She was wandering a busy intersection, completely confused, showing Skylar's photo to strangers on her phone.
"This is my daughter. She's seven years old. Have you seen her?"
People shook their heads, some getting irritated: "Lady, you need help."
When I tried to guide her away from traffic, she suddenly grabbed me in a tight hug, thinking I was Skylar.
"Baby, Mommy's taking you to Disneyland!"
"I promised if you got all A's in first grade, we'd go. Mommy almost forgot her promise."
I let her take me to the theme park.
I rode the teacups while she took pictures on her phone, both of us pretending her mind hadn't broken from grief.
Mrs. Farrell died when I was thirty-four. Peaceful, in hospice.
After that, I felt completely adrift.
I didn't know what my life was supposed to be anymore.
All these years, taking care of her as Skylar's stand-in had become my entire purpose.
I'd been trying to make amends, to quiet the guilt that ate at me every single day.
Eventually, I got a job at Sunset Manor nursing home.
There was this sweet old lady, Mrs. Duke, who always wanted to share her snacks with me.
I'd smile and tell her: "You're so cheerful, Mrs. Duke. Your family must visit all the time."
Another resident shot me a look that said *don't go there.*
Mrs. Duke said casually: "My daughter threw herself off the Manhattan Bridge last year. Clinical depression."
"Probably my fault. I was always controlling her life, telling her what to do. When her best friend got cancer, I didn't want her 'wasting time' playing nurse, so I basically held her prisoner for years."
"She never got over the guilt of abandoning her friend."
She showed me a photo on her cracked phone: "Such a pretty name—Rachel Duke."
The face staring back at me was painfully familiar.
My voice died in my throat.
I worked at Sunset Manor for the rest of my career, helping people through their final days.
Death stopped feeling like anything at all.
Eventually, I became a resident myself.
I died in the nursing home's garden on a sunny afternoon, lying in a reclining chair with my face turned toward the warmth.
I whispered to the empty air: "Timothy, if we get another chance at life, I hope we never cross paths..."
And then: "Skylar, I'm so sorry for everything."
The young nurses around me had no idea who Skylar was, or Timothy.
Those names died with our generation, forgotten like everything else that breaks your heart.
I went to Timothy's funeral.
Only a handful of his fellow officers showed up. I quietly placed sunflowers—Skylar's favorites—beside his casket.
In his portrait, he wore his police uniform with that serious expression he'd developed toward the end, like he'd completely forgotten how to smile.
I tried to memorize every detail of his face.
But the longer I stared, the more my composure fell apart, until tears were pouring down my cheeks.
I never blamed Timothy for any of it.
For five years, I'd been drowning in guilt.
When Timothy finally exposed the truth, what I felt most was relief.
Like a thief who'd stolen something precious and lived in terror, finally able to return what was never mine.
That kind of crushing relief.
At the funeral, I saw Mrs. Farrell.
Two years had passed, and the woman who used to be such an elegant socialite now had completely white hair.
Her husband had died of leukemia the month before. She'd bought back the Lakecrest house and was living there alone.
She told me she was there to see Timothy off on Skylar's behalf.
I slipped away without saying anything.
Every year on Skylar's anniversary, I visit both their graves. Sunflowers for each of them—it was what she would have wanted. Someone who loved beauty the way Skylar did deserved flowers that reminded you of sunshine.
I saw Mrs. Farrell again three years later.
She was wandering a busy intersection, completely confused, showing Skylar's photo to strangers on her phone.
"This is my daughter. She's seven years old. Have you seen her?"
People shook their heads, some getting irritated: "Lady, you need help."
When I tried to guide her away from traffic, she suddenly grabbed me in a tight hug, thinking I was Skylar.
"Baby, Mommy's taking you to Disneyland!"
"I promised if you got all A's in first grade, we'd go. Mommy almost forgot her promise."
I let her take me to the theme park.
I rode the teacups while she took pictures on her phone, both of us pretending her mind hadn't broken from grief.
Mrs. Farrell died when I was thirty-four. Peaceful, in hospice.
After that, I felt completely adrift.
I didn't know what my life was supposed to be anymore.
All these years, taking care of her as Skylar's stand-in had become my entire purpose.
I'd been trying to make amends, to quiet the guilt that ate at me every single day.
Eventually, I got a job at Sunset Manor nursing home.
There was this sweet old lady, Mrs. Duke, who always wanted to share her snacks with me.
I'd smile and tell her: "You're so cheerful, Mrs. Duke. Your family must visit all the time."
Another resident shot me a look that said *don't go there.*
Mrs. Duke said casually: "My daughter threw herself off the Manhattan Bridge last year. Clinical depression."
"Probably my fault. I was always controlling her life, telling her what to do. When her best friend got cancer, I didn't want her 'wasting time' playing nurse, so I basically held her prisoner for years."
"She never got over the guilt of abandoning her friend."
She showed me a photo on her cracked phone: "Such a pretty name—Rachel Duke."
The face staring back at me was painfully familiar.
My voice died in my throat.
I worked at Sunset Manor for the rest of my career, helping people through their final days.
Death stopped feeling like anything at all.
Eventually, I became a resident myself.
I died in the nursing home's garden on a sunny afternoon, lying in a reclining chair with my face turned toward the warmth.
I whispered to the empty air: "Timothy, if we get another chance at life, I hope we never cross paths..."
And then: "Skylar, I'm so sorry for everything."
The young nurses around me had no idea who Skylar was, or Timothy.
Those names died with our generation, forgotten like everything else that breaks your heart.
End of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards Chapter 24. Continue reading Chapter 25 or return to Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards book page.