Page 100 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

I knew where they were. Dad had been buried near the back beneath a large oak after the accident that took his life. I remembered his funeral. I had been eleven. Black tights that itched behind my knees. A coat too tight in the shoulders. My mother’s hand wrapped around mine the entire walk from the parking lot to the plot. Harmony trailing behind us, fourteen and trying not to cry where adults could see her. The priest’s hands. The wet sound of dirt hitting the coffin. My mother’s hand never letting go.

My sneakers sank into the damp grass as I approached the graves. The silence made each breath sound too loud. My cat pressed her head against my ribs, a quiet wordless comfort.

When I finally stood in front of them no words came. I had imagined this moment a thousand times. In every version I cried immediately or collapsed or said something meaningful. Instead I just stared.

Ten years. Ten fucking years.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. My throat tightened. “I should’ve come sooner.”

That wasn’t entirely true and I knew it the second it left my mouth. There had been years where survival had been the only thing I could afford. Years where revenge consumed everything else.

“I survived.”

I went to my father's grave first. His was the oldest of the four. Twelve years now. The letters were a little softer at the edges than the others, weather doing its slow work, the date underneath cut clean.

Daniel Mitchell. Husband. Father. Forever loved.

I set the lavender bouquet down gently and brushed wet leaves from the base.

“Hi, Dad.” I looked down at the stone. “I wish you could see what I’ve become. I think part of you would be proud. The rest would be horrified.” A faint, bitter smile crossed my lips. “You always said I was too stubborn for my own good. You were right.”

I reached out and touched the top of the stone. The granite was cold and slick under my fingers.

“Brian took me in after everything. He trained me to fight, to survive, to make damn sure no one could break me the way they did before.” My voice dropped lower. “I think you would have liked him. He never tried to step into your place. He’s gruff and honest, the kind of man who says exactly what he means. Reminds me a little of you.”

The rain fell steadily around me.

“I miss you,” I whispered.

I moved to my mother’s grave next.

Donna Mitchell. Wife. Mother. And beneath it, in smaller letters: She loved them with everything she had.

I set the roses down and smoothed the wet paper. For a long moment I didn’t speak. The rain fell steadily between us.

“Hi, Mom.”

I swallowed hard.

“I should’ve come sooner. I know. It wasn’t safe before, and it still isn’t. I drove an hour under a fake name just to stand here. I’m telling you that because I want you to know I’m not reckless. I’ve been careful. Ten years of careful.”

My thumb caught on the carved edge of her name.

“Brian trained me. I know you wouldn’t have loved that part, but I think you might have understood why I needed it. Janet pretends she doesn’t see most of what we do.”

A faint, tired smile tugged at my mouth and then disappeared.

“I found them, Mom. The ones who did this.”

Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.

“I already killed two. They knew why it was happening. The second one — I made him say Harmony’s name before he died.”

My throat tightened.

“I won’t apologize for it. Not to you. You always told me to be kind, but I think even you would have made an exception for them.”

My eyes tracked the inscription cut beneath her name.