Page 161 of What Goes Around

I took another sip of champagne, eyes still on Apple.

Hours later, I arrived at the family house to collect my mother’s diaries. I was staying at a hotel again.

The party had thinned out long before that, and the Richards were already home.

Finding the door unlocked, I slipped inside and moved through the entry without announcing my presence.

That’s when I heard them.

Marissa’s voice drifted from the living room, low and soothing.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“It’s Ashley,” Apple sobbed, the words tumbling out between gasping breaths. “It’s always her. She’s ruining everything between me and Nick. He doesn’t even care about me. He only thinks about her.”

Marissa made a soft, comforting sound.

“Did you see how he kept looking at her?” Apple continued, hysteria bleeding through every word. “Why can’t I be with the man I love? What’s wrong with me? Is it because I’m not good enough?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Marissa murmured. “Of course you’re good enough. You’re everything. Some men just don’t know what they have.”

I stepped forward then, into the living room, my heels now clicking deliberately against the floor.

They startled.

Marissa looked up first. Apple froze mid-sob.

I paused, took in the scene, then rolled my eyes.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I said flatly. “It’s very touching.”

I didn’t wait for a response.

I turned and walked down the hall toward my father’s study, the door already ajar. Brandon was inside, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, seated behind his desk like he’d been expecting me.

He looked up. “You came.”

“You said you had something of my mother’s,” I replied.

He nodded and reached into a drawer, then another, before pulling out a worn archival box. He hesitated for a moment before sliding it across the desk.

“Your mother’s journals,” he said quietly. “I should have given them to you sooner.”

I opened the box slowly.

Several journals lay inside. Soft covers. Familiar handwriting. Something tightened in my chest, but I kept my face neutral.

“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. Even if it came years too late.

Brandon hesitated. “You could stay tonight. It’s late. You don’t have to go back to the hotel.”

I closed the box.

“No,” I said. “I’m good.”

Disappointment flickered across his face before he smoothed it away.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “Truly.”