"I'll tell them," I said finally, my voice small. "When I go for dinner tomorrow. I'll tell them about this."
"Good." Viola stood, pulling out her phone again. "But I'm also going to let Lynn know what happened. Not to gossip," she added quickly when she saw my expression, "but because Lynn knows everyone and everything in this town. If Trinity is escalating, the community should know. People can keep an eye out, make sure you're safe."
"I don't need the whole town?—"
"You have the whole town whether you want them or not," Viola interrupted gently. "You've been part of this community for five years, Daphne. People care about you, even if you've kept them at a distance. Let them care. Let them help."
I wanted to argue, to insist I could handle this myself, to retreat back into the comfortable isolation where I didn't haveto depend on anyone. But looking at Viola, at this woman who'd shown up when I called, who was taking photos and making plans and refusing to let me face this alone—I realized that maybe that was the point.
Maybe I didn't have to handle everything alone anymore.
"Okay," I whispered, though not fully convinced. "But can we... can we get that box out of my house? I don't want to look at it anymore."
"Absolutely." Viola grabbed some dish gloves from under my sink and carefully placed everything back in the box, sealing it up. "I'll take this with me. Evidence, in case we need it. And Daphne? You should consider filing a police report."
"For a dead plant?" I asked skeptically as I frowned, shifting in unease.
"For harassment and intimidation. This is a threat, even if it's not a direct one. Start a paper trail now, just in case things escalate further." She carried the box toward the door, then paused. "Do you want me to stay for a bit? I don't have to be at work until this evening."
The offer was tempting—the house felt too empty now, too vulnerable. But I also needed time to process, to settle myself back into some semblance of calm.
"I'll be okay," I said, trying to sound more certain than I felt. "But thank you. For coming. For... for being here."
"That's what friends do." Viola smiled, then her expression turned more serious. "Text me throughout the day, okay? Just so I know you're alright. And if anything else happens—anything at all—you call me immediately."
"I will." And I meant it. The realization that I had someone to call, someone who would show up without hesitation, felt both terrifying and comforting in equal measure.
After Viola left, I stood in my kitchen for a long moment, trying to reconcile the calm morning I'd planned with the realityof what had just happened. The dead plant was gone, but the message lingered—someone wanted me gone and a part of me wanted to listen. Wanted to text Garrett and the others and tell them tomorrow was a mistake, that I couldn't do this, that I was too much trouble and they should find someone easier.
But another part—the part that had survived my mother's abandonment and Margaret and Tom's death and five years of self-imposed isolation—that part was angry. Who was Trinity to tell me where I belonged? Who was she to decide what I deserved or didn't deserve?
I pulled out my phone and opened my messages, looking at the texts from this morning. Garrett's gentle check-in. Levi's enthusiasm about baking. Micah's reminder that I was taking things one step at a time. Viola's offer of friendship.
These people were choosing to be in my life. Not because they had to, not because I'd manipulated or trapped them, but because they wanted to be. And I was choosing to let them in, slowly and carefully, because the alternative—the isolation, the loneliness, the slow suffocation of a life lived entirely alone—was its own kind of death.
Trinity could send all the dead plants she wanted. I wasn't going anywhere.
I opened a new message to Oliver , my fingers hovering over the keyboard. He was the head alpha so it felt right to message him about this before the others.
After a moment, I started typing.
Something happened this morning. Nothing dangerous, but I need to talk to you and the others about it tomorrow. Is that okay?
His response came quickly:Of course. Whatever you need. Are you alright? I can come over or one of the others as well.
I typed a quick response:I'm okay. Viola came over and helped. I'll explain everything tomorrow.
Oliver: Okay. But Daphne, if you need anything before then..anything at all..call me. I mean that.
I stared at the message, at this Alpha who kept offering help without demanding anything in return. Who kept showing up, kept being patient, kept giving me choices instead of ultimatums.
I typed a response, a faint smile coming to the corners of my lips: I know. Thank you.
I set the phone down and looked around my kitchen, my sanctuary that suddenly felt less secure than it had this morning. But it was still mine. This life was still mine. And I wasn't going to let someone else's jealousy or threats take that away.
I had weeding to do. Herbs to harvest. A greenhouse to repair. Normal, predictable tasks that would ground me, remind me that I was still here, still standing, still capable.
Tomorrow I would walk into that pack house and tell them about Trinity's escalation. Tomorrow I would take another step forward, despite the fear, despite the threats, despite all the voices in my head telling me to run.
