Chapter 8 - Private Is Where This Family Hides Rot
Vivien hated it.
Sienna knew because Tessa Allen, an old family friend who still followed everyone, sent a screenshot of Vivien’s private post:
Some people rewrite history to justify betrayal.
Sienna stared at it for half a minute.
Then sent back:
Please don’t send me her weather reports.
Tessa replied:
Fair.
Healing did not look like triumph.
It looked like Sienna checking the driveway every time a dark truck arrived.
It looked like flinching when someone reached too fast near her wrist.
It looked like dreaming of metal against her back.
It looked like standing in the distillation room with the silver key in her hand, reminding herself that the room still opened.
Sometimes she hated Garrett.
Sometimes she missed the brother he had never been.
That was the confusing part.
She missed a version of him built entirely from childhood scraps.
Garrett teaching her to throw a baseball before he learned cruelty got laughs.
Garrett sneaking her extra Halloween candy.
Garrett carrying her across a flooded ditch when she was seven.
Had he been kind then?
Or had she only been small enough to admire him before he became himself?
Therapy helped answer that with one sentence:
“Both can be true.”
She hated that.
Then needed it.
Vivien tried one more time that autumn.
She appeared at the farm shop wearing sunglasses and a camel coat, as if dressing well could erase recorded violence.
Sienna was in the back office when Maya came in.
“Your mother is here.”
Sienna looked up.
The old fear came first.
Then anger.
Then calm.
“Did she buy anything?”
Maya blinked.
“No.”
“Then she’s loitering.”
Maya smiled.
“Want me to say that?”
Sienna stood.
“No. I will.”
Vivien stood near the display of lavender honey, looking around like the shelves had personally betrayed her.
When she saw Sienna, her mouth tightened.
“You look thin.”
Sienna almost laughed.
“Hello, Mother.”
Vivien removed her sunglasses.
Her eyes were not red.
No sleepless apology.
No visible remorse.
Only calculation softened by inconvenience.
“We need to talk.”
“No.”
Vivien’s lips parted.
Sienna continued, “You can email my lawyer.”
“I am your mother.”
“You watched Garrett twist my wrist.”
Vivien’s face hardened.
“I froze.”
“No. The customers froze. You waited.”
Vivien looked toward the shop door, aware of staff nearby.
“This is exactly what I mean. You turn everything into an attack.”
Sienna studied her.
For years, that sentence would have made her defend herself.
Now it only bored her.
“Did you come to apologize?”
Vivien looked offended.
“I came because your father is ill.”
That struck.
Sienna hated that it struck.
“What kind of ill?”
“Blood pressure. Stress. This situation has nearly destroyed him.”
“This situation?”
Vivien stepped closer.
“He is your father.”
“And I am his daughter.”
“That is why I’m asking you to stop punishing us.”
Sienna stared.
“You think consequences are punishment because you’ve never had them.”
Vivien’s mask cracked.
“You sold the farm behind our backs.”
“I sold my farm.”
“To strangers.”
“To people who know how it works.”
“You humiliated Garrett publicly.”
“He attacked me publicly.”
“You could have handled it privately.”
Sienna looked around the shop.
At the shelves.
At the customers pretending not to hear.
At Maya standing near the register with her arms crossed.
“No,” Sienna said. “Private is where this family hides rot.”
Vivien’s eyes flashed.
“You always were cruel when you didn’t get your way.”
Sienna felt something loosen inside her.
Not forgiveness.
Release.
“You can leave now.”
Vivien stared.
Then picked up a jar of lavender honey.
For one absurd second, Sienna thought she might throw it.
Instead, Vivien placed it back perfectly aligned.
“You will regret choosing employees over blood.”
Sienna opened the door.
“Blood chose Garrett.”
Vivien walked out.
The bell above the shop door rang behind her.
Maya exhaled.
“Damn.”
Sienna leaned against the counter.
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
Sienna looked at the jar Vivien had touched.
Then at the fields beyond the window.
May you like
“Yes,” she said.
And realized, with surprise, that it was mostly true.
