Page 71 of Bitter Truths

Once we’re all settled, I break the silence.

“Tell us what happened to you after graduation, Bianca.”

She goes still. Her hands clench into fists, knuckles tight, then slowly, deliberately, she forces them open. One finger at a time. Until they rest flat on her thighs.

I track every detail—the slow rise of her chest, the careful rhythm of her breathing, which she appears to be counting.

“Which part?” Her voice is cool. Detached. “When I woke up with my skull pounding like someone used it for target practice? Or when I tried reaching all of you that morning and got nothing but silence?”

“Jesus, Bianca...” Freddie breathes the words like a confession. He leans forward, hand reaching before he catches himself. It hovers there for a moment, uncertain, then lowers back to his lap, empty.

“We didn’t know,” he says softly. “We couldn’t answer because we were...”

“Trapped with her. I know… you told me that.” She finishes for him, tone flat… like she’s reading from a report that has nothing to do with her.

But her body betrays her.

Her fingers press hard into her thigh, just for a second. A tell. Her left hand starts tracing a small circle against her leg, over and over, like she doesn’t even know it’s happening.

Owen leans in, elbows braced on his knees. The muscle in his jaw ticks once… then again. His hands open and close as if he doesn’t trust them, like they might fly into motion if he gives them permission. His eyes stay locked on her.

“Mom was rushing me to finish packing for the trip.” She shrugs, but it doesn’t land right. Too loose. Too casual. “I kept calling. Kept texting. Right up until we lost service. I didn’t want to leave without... talking to you. But I had to anyway.”

The image knocks the breath out of the room. Her alone, panicked, reaching out with everything she had left. And none of us there to answer.

None of us even knew.

“We never got our phones back. They gave us new ones.” Weller’s gaze drops to his hands, fingers flexing slowly like he can still feel the weight of that moment. “When we tried to contact you after... it was already too late.”

“Yeah. It was.” Her words slide in like a blade.

Weller leans forward. Not much… just enough to shift the energy in the room. The air changes with him. His focus narrows until it’s only on her, every inch of him locked in.

“Please tell us what else happened, Bianca.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she watches him. Watches all of us. Her head tilts, thoughtful, like she’s weighing just how much truth she’s willing to hand over.

Her eyes move from one face to the next, cool and unreadable, those piercing blue eyes that used to soften when she looked at us. Now they just burn.

I see her tongue flick out to wet her bottom lip, a quick, involuntary gesture that betrays the stillness in her frame. She looks calm, but it’s a lie. And we all know it.

“You want the gory details?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes flicker. Just for a second. Not softness. Nothing close. It’s more like a spark flaring to life behind the flatness. The way her mouth curves at one corner… a faint, cynical smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Mom dragged me on the hiking trip,” she says, voice light. Too light. “Said I needed fresh air and perspective. You know, classic post-graduation soul-cleansing bullshit.”

She shifts in the chair, fingers tapping a slow, steady rhythm against her thigh. Like she’s keeping herself tethered.

“No cell service. No contact with the outside world. Perfect setup for a meltdown.”

She lets that hang.

“A few days in, I talked my mom into letting me hike up this ridge that supposedly had reception… if the wind cooperated and the gods felt generous.” Her tone goes light, almost teasing, but the humor has teeth. “Hours of uphill hell later, it became painfully obvious that a body built for bookstores and bubble baths wasn’t meant for that kind of trek. But I made it.”

My chest pulls tight, splintering under the weight of it.