Page 152 of Wild Sanctuary

His jaw clenches.

“You take it.” I look toward the path that leads to my dad’s plot before shifting my gaze back to Wyatt. “I need to do this part on my own anyway.”

He shakes his head, his phone still ringing in his hand. “Daisy, I⁠—”

“I mean it.” I reach out, my head tilting to one side as I brush the back of my fingers across his cheekbone. “Take the call, Wyatt.”

And after a beat, he nods once and steps away, swiping to answer. “Hartley speakin’.”

He gives me his back as he retreats toward the truck, and I continue on down the path, my eyes landing slowly on Dad’s final resting place.

The granite headstone is simple, with his name and two dates beneath, and not nearly enough time between them. A young cottonwood stands directly behind it, leaves catching the breeze in soft, dry whispers.

I crouch and lay the peonies and irises across the base of the stone, the deep pink and purple settling into the grass the way I hoped they would, before sitting back on my heels.

“Hi, Dad.”

The cottonwood rustles above me, and the sound is the closest thing to company I’m going to get out here.

“I should have come sooner. I know. You don’t have to say it.”

The wind shifts, and a strand of hair lifts off my shoulder. I tuck it behind my ear as a frown forms on my brow.

“But I couldn’t just show up with nothing in my hands. You didn’t raise me to bring you wildflowers and a sad little speech and call it a visit.”

I run my thumb along the carved edge of the T in his name.

“I have something for you now.”

The words come out on the barest whisper as the weight of that sinks in.

I did what I came here to do.

A sound that’s half a laugh, half a sob slips out of me before I can stop it, because I was right.

I was right.

And you don’t get to be right about your father’s murder without it tasting sweet and rotten in the same breath.

“Dad.” I’m smiling, but there are tears tracking down my cheeks, and my heart feels like it might beat out of my chest. “Dad, I got him.”

I press my palm flat against the granite.

“I got him.” Softer this time, and I inhale through my nose, holding it for a beat before blowing out through my mouth. “The whole thing, every dirty piece of it, the shell companies, the bank accounts, the call that kept Wyatt back that morning. All of it. Marcus Donnelly is going to rot in prison for the rest of his natural life.”

The smile breaks halfway through and I have to drop my chin and breathe.

Because the worst part is, I only got to do this because he didn’t.

“We should have done this together. Instead I cracked it alone, because the man who killed you made sure I had to.”

And there’s no version of this where I get to feel just one thing about it.

I’m proud. I’m proud, Dad. And I’m broken all the way down to my soul that you had to die to make me the woman who could finish it.

I press the heel of my hand to my mouth for a long moment, then drop it as the cottonwood moves above me.

“I keep waiting for the missing-you to ease up now that I’m here, and it’s doing the opposite. I miss you more, Dad. Not less. But it’s better, somehow.” I frown, shaking my head. “I don’t know how to explain that.”