The sky was overcast as Jillian stepped out of the taxi, the weight of silence pressing gently on her shoulders. She clutched a small bouquet of white lilies in one hand, the petals trembling slightly in the breeze.
The cemetery was quiet, tucked away from the chaos of Orwell's busy streets. She walked the familiar path with slow steps, tracing memories with each footfall—birthday visits, tearful conversations, whispered confessions to a stone that never answered.
She stopped in front of the grave.
Lillian Smith.
Beloved wife. Cherished mother. Gone too soon.
Kneeling, Jillian placed the flowers down and sat beside the headstone, her fingers gently brushing the edge of the engraved letters. "Hi, Mom," she said softly, her voice catching. "I came back. Not for them… not really. I guess... I just needed to feel grounded before walking into that house again."
A pause. The wind stirred her hair, and she pulled her coat tighter.
"They're marrying off Celeste. And somehow, they think I care enough to be part of it." A bitter laugh escaped. "Camilla's still Camilla. And Dad... he's still doing what suits him best."
She sighed and tilted her head up, letting the sky meet her gaze. "I miss you. More than I thought I would coming back here. I made something of myself, Mom. You'd be proud. At least, I hope so."
A few more minutes passed in silence before she stood up again. She touched the stone once more, whispered goodbye, and turned back toward the road. She didn't look back.
Her steps were slow as she left the cemetery, the weight of her visit lingering in the air. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she didn't check it—her thoughts were elsewhere.
The mall was just ahead, a place she used to frequent as a child, and it felt oddly comforting, as if it was grounding her in a way that the city hadn't managed to do.
She wandered through the familiar halls, glancing at store windows and pausing by an old coffee shop she and her mother used to frequent.
Jillian let herself be carried by the flow of people, not rushing, just taking in the space around her. Everything felt distant, and yet, somehow, a piece of her still felt at home in this town.
After a while, Jillian continued her walk, leaving the mall behind as she made her way to the edge of the city, where the countryside awaited. Her mind drifted again, this time to her grandmother's home, nestled quietly outside the bustle of Orwell.
Her grandmother's place had always been a sanctuary, a place of peace, and Jillian needed that calm before stepping back into the whirlwind of her family's expectations.
Arriving at her grandmother's, the familiar smell of lavender and freshly baked bread greeted her. Dante and Leo, her grandmother's trusted caretakers, were there as always, looking after the house with care.
"Jillian!" her grandmother called warmly, stepping forward to embrace her. "You look worn out, my dear. Come inside. Dante made us a lovely lunch."
Jillian smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. "Thanks, Grandma."
Inside the cozy cottage, sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting soft patterns on the wooden floor. Jillian sat at the round kitchen table, a warm cup of herbal tea in her hands as her grandmother bustled around with quiet grace.
"You've lost weight," her grandmother noted, setting down a plate of freshly baked buns. "I don't like that. You doctors, always fixing others and forgetting yourselves."
Jillian chuckled lightly, "It's been a busy season. But I'm alright, really."
Dante, ever the practical one, entered with a basket of garden herbs, setting them down beside Leo, who was trimming them with quiet precision.
"You haven't changed much, Jill," Dante said, glancing up with a smile. "Still carrying the weight of the world in your eyes."
Jillian leaned back, relaxing for the first time in days. "Maybe. Or maybe I just need more afternoons like this."
Leo looked up and added with his usual calm, "The city doesn't breathe like this place does. That's why we stay here."
They ate lunch under the garden pergola, surrounded by blooming jasmine and birdsong. The conversation was light at first—stories from Leo's latest woodworking project, Dante's stubborn goat getting loose again, and her grandmother's victory at the local bingo night.
But as the sun dipped lower, Jillian shared a little about the upcoming banquet and the pressure from her father.
Her grandmother reached out, placing a gentle hand over hers. "Whatever they expect of you, Jillian, remember—you owe no one your peace."
For a moment, the silence was thick with understanding. Jillian blinked away the sting in her eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I think I needed to hear that more than anything."
As the sun began to set behind the hills, casting golden hues over the countryside, Jillian stood at the edge of the little garden, taking one last deep breath of the clean, floral-scented air. The quiet comfort of the day still lingered in her chest.
Her grandmother hugged her tightly at the gate. "You be strong, my girl. And don't forget—you're never alone."
"I won't," Jillian said, smiling through the gentle ache of parting.
Dante gave her a quick nod and a crooked smile. "Don't let them walk over you, Dr. Jiang."
Leo handed her a small pouch—dried herbs. "For calm, if the banquet brings more noise than grace."
She waved them goodbye as the car pulled away, watching their silhouettes grow smaller in the rearview mirror. The road back to Orwell city stretched ahead, winding through quiet fields and into the dusk.
Jillian leaned her head back, her heart steady, her spirit just a little lighter.
Back to the city… and whatever waited next.
Jillian entered her apartment just as the city lights began to glitter through her windows. The silence inside wrapped around her like an old friend. No rushed footsteps. No hospital beeps. Just the hum of the city beyond the glass.
She dropped her bag on the couch, slipped off her shoes, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. She brewed some jasmine tea—something to calm her thoughts—and stood by the window, watching life move on below.
On the table lay the small pouch Leo gave her. She ran her fingers across the rough fabric, her lips curving into a faint smile. Peace had been a rare thing lately, but tonight, she let it settle.
Later, she lit a candle, curled up with a book she'd been meaning to finish, and let her thoughts drift—not to the hospital, not to the banquet, not even to Ethan—but to herself. Her own healing. Her own stillness.
The night passed quietly. No phones. No knocks. Just Jillian, finally letting herself rest.