The house felt too quiet without Aunt Marian.
The soft tick of the clock echoed in the empty hall as Rose sat by the window, staring at the garden her aunt once loved. The same roses bloomed outside — vivid and untamed — but they no longer held warmth. Aunt Marian was gone. Dead. Her secrets buried along with her. The funeral had passed like a strange blur — words, flowers, condolences — none of which Rose could fully absorb.
A knock echoed through the hollow house. She stood slowly, hesitated, then opened the door.
Detective Crane stood there in his long grey coat, holding his hat in his hand. There was a gentleness in his eyes she hadn't seen before. Not the calculating sharpness of an investigator — but something softer. Something human.
"Rose," he said with a respectful nod. "I wanted to check in. Mind if I come in?"
She stepped aside silently, giving him room. He looked around, as if the air itself held remnants of everything this house had witnessed — lies, betrayal, silence... and loss.
They sat in the living room. The same couch where once she sat in fear, in silence, in confusion. Now, there was only tiredness in her body — a weight left behind by everything that had been uncovered.
"I suppose you already heard about Whitlock," Crane said after a moment of quiet.
She looked at him, brow furrowed.
Crane exhaled and leaned forward. "They found him dead. In his home. It was a heart attack — nothing more. No struggle, no foul play. Just… his heart gave out."
Rose blinked slowly. Her fingers curled slightly around the hem of her sleeve.
Crane watched her. "I thought you deserved to know. I know what he did to you — to your family. And I wish we could've made him pay in court. But fate had other plans."
There was no smile on Rose's face, no relief, not even bitterness. Just a hollow kind of quiet. She nodded slowly, her voice finally breaking the silence.
"When will Jake be out?"
Crane tilted his head gently. "He'll be released after the funeral process is complete and all final reports are closed. It won't be long. I imagine he'll want to see you."
She looked down, brushing her fingers over a dried petal on the table — the last bloom from her aunt's funeral bouquet. She didn't answer. Just closed her eyes and nodded again.
After Crane left, the house felt colder. Emptier.
Two days later, she boarded a flight back to Costa Rica.
The sun was brighter there. The scent of soil and wild blossoms filled the air. Her flower shop sat quietly on the corner of a cobblestone street, just where she had left it. Dusty windows. A weathered wooden sign. But as she stepped inside, something within her loosened — a quiet exhale of belonging.
She opened the windows, swept the floors, and trimmed the roses that had grown wild in her absence. The silence here was different. It didn't echo with the ghosts of betrayal or violence. It smelled of earth, and hope.
Weeks passed.
The shop reopened slowly. Tourists wandered in, neighbors offered warm embraces and pastries wrapped in napkins. She didn't speak of the past. She let the petals do the talking.
And then, one afternoon, as sunlight streamed through the window and dust danced in the golden beams, the bell above the door chimed.
She looked up.
Jake stood there.
Older now — not in years, but in his eyes. The weight of truth had shifted something in him. His shoulders carried it. But there was relief too, and a trembling kind of guilt.
"Hey," he said quietly.
She wiped her hands on her apron and came out from behind the counter. They stood there for a moment, simply looking at each other. No walls, no lies, no shadows.
"I didn't know if you'd want to see me here," he added.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
He hugged her back tightly.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For everything. For not telling you sooner. For letting it all fall on you."
Rose shook her head gently. Some wounds didn't need words. Some forgiveness lived in actions — in showing up, in holding on.
They sat outside the shop that evening, sipping tea and watching the last petals fall from the blooming trees.
"Did you lived here now?" Jake asked.
She nodded slowly. "This is where I can breathe."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe I'll stay too. For a while. I think I need that."
Above them, the wind danced through the trees, carrying away the last whispers of a buried past. The storm was over.
And though scars remained, so did the flowers.
And the silent witness — was finally free to live.