LAVENDER’S pov
I recognize her voice before I fully recognize her face. It’s calm, measured, the kind of calm that doesn’t rush to fill silence because it knows silence will come to it on its own.
“Lavender, ”My hand tightens around the doorframe. Margaret Robinson stands in the hallway like she belongs there , not imposing, not hesitant, simply present. As though she has already made peace with this moment long before arriving.
“I won’t stay if you ask me to leave,” she says gently. “But I hope you won’t.”I step aside.
Later, I’ll wonder why. Why I didn’t protect myself better. Maybe if i had changed location after i was discharged, for a moment i regretted why I didn’t choose distance again. But in that moment, something in her eyes tells me this isn’t an ambush.
It’s an offering.
