Page 21 of The Lie

The nurse looks up at me, and something shifts in her expression. Her face softens in a way that immediately fills me with dread.

“Are you family?”

I swallow. “No. I’m a good friend.”

She glances down at the screen in front of her before looking back at me. “I’m so sorry. Mrs Lancaster passed away last night.”

The world seems to go quiet around me. I stand here waiting for her to correct herself, to tell me there’s been a mistake, that Poppy’s grandmother is in another room or that I’ve misunderstood.

But she doesn’t.

“She went peacefully. Her granddaughter came in earlier to collect her things. The poor thing was so distraught.”

Poppy.

My fingers tighten around the ring box in my pocket as the reality finally sinks in. I came here to show her grandmother the ring she helped me choose. I came here to give her one more happy memory, but I’m too late.

When my grandmother died, I threw myself into work. It was the only thing I could do to keep the grief and guilt from consuming me. Staying busy meant I didn’t have to think about the fact that she was gone. That I wasn’t there for her when she needed me most. Burying myself in work meant I didn’t have to face the things I couldn’t change.

At least I had my brother and my parents. I had people who noticed when I wasn’t okay or when I pretended I was.

Poppy has nobody.

Or at least, nobody I know about. I don’t even know if she has friends she can lean on. Between two jobs, classes, and everything else she’s carrying, when would she have the time to build a support system? The thought of her dealing with this alone has my chest tightening.

That’s why I’m parked in her driveway, wondering whether she even wants me here. She has my number. If she needed me, she could’ve called.

I wish she had.

I blow out a long breath as I exit the car before I can talk myself out of seeing her.

When I reach the front door, I hesitate, my hand hovering in the air. For some reason, this feels like an invasion. Poppy’s the type of woman who guards her independence with everything she has, and grief has a way of making people shut everyone out.

I should leave, but instead, I find myself knocking. My conscience won’t let me walk away until I at least know she’s okay.

My hand drops back to my side as I wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Logic tells me she’s not here. She could be with friends, making arrangements, or out trying to distract herself from the kind of pain that steals all the air from your lungs.

But something keeps me rooted to the spot, hoping the door will open. I still have the house key in my pocket, but I already know I won’t use it. I’d never intrude on her privacy like that.

I knock again, this time harder. “Poppy, are you in there? It’s Bennett. I ... umm ... just came from⁠—”

The rest of my sentence dies when the door suddenly swings open.

Poppy stands before me with red, swollen eyes and wrapped tightly in the colourful crochet blanket that had sat across her grandmother’s hospital bed. It hangs around her shoulders like she’s clinging to the last piece of Nanna she has left.

The devastation on her face cracks something open deep inside me. It’s etched into every inch of her, from the emptiness in her expression to the way her body sags beneath the weight of her grief. A lump forms in the back of my throat as the reality of what she’s lost crashes into me all over again.

No one should ever have to look this heartbroken.

Without thinking, I open my arms and take a step towards her. “Come here, sweetheart.”

The second she melts into me, I wrap my arms around her because it’s the only thing I know how to do. A broken sob tears from Poppy’s chest, followed by another, her whole body shaking so violently that tears sting my own eyes.