Page 18 of What Remains of Grace

Jenna leaned back against the couch cushion, the phone heavy in her hand. Atlanta felt like another lifetime, full of unfinished houses, inspection lists, and coffee going cold between job sites. Everything that used to feel urgent now felt impossibly far away.

But she knew what she had to do. She wasn’t going back.

She scrolled through her contacts until she found Hannah. When the call connected, Hannah’s voice was warm, tired, and careful. “Jenna? Oh my God, are you okay?”

“No,” Jenna said softly, rubbing her forehead. “But I’m here.”

“Where? I’ve been covering what I can. Mark has been amazing, but everyone’s asking if you’re coming back soon.”

“I’m not,” Jenna said. “I’m… selling everything.”

There was a pause. “You’re not what? Coming back? Selling what? What is going on?”

“The assets, the trucks, the tools—everything tied to the company. You and Mark can handle the transitions. Offer the crew the first right of purchase if they want any of it, then offload the rest to one of our partner crews if you can. I’ll send a severance package for both of you. You’ve earned that and more.”

“Uh. Jenna, wait—that’s . . . that’s a lot. Are you sure? What is going on? Are you in trouble?”

She looked out the window to the bakery next door and the hazy shimmer of the gulf light reflecting off its windows. “I’m fine. And yeah, I’m sure.”

There was a beat of silence, then Hannah exhaled sharply. “You can’t just disappear and then drop this on me, Jenna. Everyone’s looking to you, and I don’t even know what the hell is happening. What am I supposed to tell everyone?”

Jenna said nothing. The line hummed between them, guilt rendering her speechless.

Finally, Hannah sighed. “Okay. I’ll start making some calls.”

“Thank you,” Jenna whispered.

After she hung up, she sat for a long time staring at the empty kitchen. She felt lighter and heavier all at once.

She hadn’t told them why. She couldn’t. Explaining would mean unraveling ten years of silence, and she wasn’t ready for that. For years, she’d drawn the boundaries sharp and clean: We don’t talk about family. We build. We fix. We move forward.

And now, with everything falling apart, she wondered what they’d think if they knew. If they’d look at her differently, knowing she’d built her life on escape.

Jenna’s guilt came in layers. What she was leaving behind, what she hadn’t said, what she could never undo. Hannah and Mark would land on their feet. She’d make sure of it. But the life she was walking away from? That was harder to account for.

She’d spent a decade holding things together with calloused hands and sheer will. And now she was dismantling it piece by piece.

A knock came at the door.

Aunt Marilyn stood outside holding a brown paper bag that smelled like bacon and biscuits. “I brought breakfast,” she said.

Jenna stepped aside to let her in. The smell filled the room, simple, southern, grounding.

Marilyn set the bag on the counter and looked closely at her niece. “You look like you’ve been awake all night.”

“Probably because I have.” Jenna managed a half-smile. “I’ve been catching up on work. I called Hannah, my assistant. I’m selling the business.”

Marilyn blinked. “Selling? Honey, that’s not a small decision.”

“I know, but I’ve been gone long enough, and I can’t keep two lives going. Grace kept this place alive for ten years. The bakery, the house, Emmie, she carried all of it by herself. I think it’s my turn now.”

Marilyn leaned against the counter, arms folded. “I’m not saying it’s the wrong decision. Just . . . don’t make it out of guilt. Grief makes you think the only way to make it hurt less is to fix something. Sometimes you can’t.”

Jenna nodded, but she didn’t answer. Some things she couldn’t unsee: the bread left half- risen on the counter that night, the lists Grace had kept taped to the wall, the evidence of her sister’s exhaustion everywhere she looked.

Before Marilyn could say more, footsteps sounded down the hallway.

Emmie stood in the doorway, hair tousled, still in her pajamas. Her eyes darted between them. “What are you talking about?”