Haven Whitmore's Arc

Chapter 4 of 13

Haven set the lantern down by the water park's bright wooden doors, where the splash and laughter inside made the world feel almost normal. Two days. That was what the test had told her this morning. Two days until everything she had built would have to make room for one more chair, one more name. She pressed a small framed picture to her chest — a pink puppy chasing a butterfly, a card Jacob had given her when they were six. Jacob lived in the tall ornate building near the sanctuary's edge, all carved stone and arched windows. Haven climbed the steps with the card in her hand. She had rehearsed the sentence three times on the walk over. Best friend. Baby. Two days. She lifted her fist to knock. The door swung open before she touched it. Cherry stood there, headphones around her neck, eyes hot. In her hands was the kindergarten portrait — Haven and Jacob, gap-toothed, holding crayons. "Jacob belongs to me," Cherry said, voice tight and shaking. She raised the frame above her head. "You don't get to come here with that face and that little card and take him." "Cherry, wait —" Haven stepped forward, but the frame was already coming down. Glass cracked against the stone step. The picture split clean through the middle, right between two small smiling kids. Haven dropped to her knees and gathered the pieces. Her hands were shaking. She had not said the words yet. Now she could not. Cherry's face changed when she saw Haven's hands — really saw them, the careful way they moved, the way Haven was not fighting back. "Haven," Cherry whispered. "Why are you here. Really." Haven looked up at her friend, at the broken glass, at the closed door behind Cherry where Jacob still did not know. "I can't tell you yet," she said quietly. "I have to tell him first." She stood, the card and the broken pieces held tight, and walked back down the steps. The secret was still hers. But the cost of keeping it two more days had just gotten louder, and Cherry was watching now.