Make Them Regret It Chapter 42
They had spent over a month guarding the chapel and had grown gaunt.
“Miss Blythe,” one of them said, dropping to his knees. “We’ve confessed our crimes to the council. Our sentence has been passed. We’re not allowed to leave the chapel grounds for the rest of our lives.”
I looked at them.
That night, one had wanted to open the door, but the other had stopped him.
In the end, the door had stayed shut.
“What do you want?”
“We want to go to the graves and apologize.”
I stepped aside, leaving the path clear.
“The graves are that way.”
They stared at me, as if they hadn’t expected me to let them pass.
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” I said. “If you have something to say, say it to them yourselves.”
They lowered their heads and walked, one slow step at a time, toward the cemetery.
I didn’t wait for them to come back.
Outside the estate gates, my grandmother tied my cloak for me. It was the one my mother had made, with the little rose embroidered on the cuff.
“You’re sure you won’t come live with me in Boston?”
“I’ll come visit.”
“Are you afraid, being out there on your own?”
I patted the dagger at my waist.
“I used to be.”
“Not anymore.”
My grandmother stroked my hair and tucked a bag of chocolates into my hand.
“Then go.”
“And when you’re tired, come back.”
This time, someone was seeing me off.
But no one would ever again decide for me where I should go.