The Vanishing Girls Of Willow Creek (Willow Creek, #1)

Chapter Twenty Three

The harsh reality of grief is that once the funeral is over, people move on with their lives, leaving you all alone to walk this lonely and painful journey of grief. Little does anyone care that for that griever, every day is a new battle to start being strong again. - Narin Grewal

When I arrived home after the funeral, I found myself doing something I never thought I would.

Looking through last year's yearbook.

As I lay on my bed, flipping through the pages, memories flooded my mind. The funeral earlier that day had left me feeling numb and lost, but looking at Miranda's smiling face in those photographs brought a bittersweet wave of emotions crashing over me.

I couldn't help but notice how her smile never quite reached her eyes unless she was with Jackson. They were inseparable, always laughing and joking around together. It was as if they shared a secret language that only they understood, something akin to Jon and I.

Lost in my thoughts, I was startled by a quiet rapping on the window. I turned to see Jonathan outside, his jacket held over his head to shield himself from the rain.

"Can you open the window please?" He called out, his voice muffled by the glass.

Hurrying over, I unsealed the latch and pushed it open for him to climb inside. He jumped down carefully, water droplets clinging to his hair and clothes.

"Hurry in. Before it soaks my floor," I teased as he made his way inside.

"Sorry about the mess," he apologized, gesturing to the wet footprints he had left behind.

"It's fine. Just hang your jacket in the bathroom," I instructed him before returning to my bed, where the yearbook lay abandoned.

Jonathan did as told before joining me on the bed.

"So, what were you looking at? Did you find your parents' yearbook?" he inquired.

I shook my head and slapped myself on the forehead. "I totally forgot," I admitted sheepishly.

Jon settled down beside me, picking up the discarded yearbook that lay open on a page featuring Jackson and Miranda. "Is this about that girl who was talking to you at the graveyard?" he probed.

I nodded silently. "Her name is Amy. She's Miranda's cousin," I explained, my voice heavy with unresolved emotions.

"What caused her to come over to you?" Jon pressed further, his curiosity piqued.

"She told me that Miranda mentioned me quite a bit over the years," I revealed slowly, memories flooding back like a tidal wave crashing against my fragile resolve.

Jon raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What? How much did you two not get along?"

"That's what I thought too," I murmured pensively. "But Amy said something unexpected. She told me that Miranda never actually hated me."

Jon looked taken aback by this revelation. "Well, she sure acted like she did," he pointed out logically.

"Amy said it was Kirsty who influenced her to treat me badly all those years," I disclosed softly, feeling a strange mix of relief and sadness wash over me. "Miranda envied me."

"Envied you?" Jon echoed incredulously.

"Yes," I affirmed with a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "She admired my ability to be true to myself and not care about others' opinions."

As Jon listened intently, I flipped through the pages of the yearbook, pointing out various pictures that captured Miranda's transformation from a timid girl wearing glasses to someone desperately seeking acceptance through external validation.