Chapter Seventy Two - Ready For Jail

The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the kitchen window, casting long, trembling shadows across the worn wooden floorboards. The house felt heavy with silence, thick enough to suffocate, as Harriet sat at the kitchen table, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her sleeve. The familiar hum of the refrigerator was the only sound breaking the stillness, but inside Harriet, a storm was brewing.

Camila and Thomas stood nearby, exchanging worried glances. Harriet's heart hammered painfully in her chest. She swallowed hard, searching for the courage to break the fragile calm.

"Mom, Dad.. I need to talk to you both." she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's something I've been carrying, something I need to get off my chest."

Her parents stopped what they were doing, their full attention turning toward her. Camila's eyes softened, a mix of concern and love shining through, while Thomas folded his arms, bracing himself.

Harriet took a deep breath and looked down at her trembling hands. "I was there.. at Grandma's house the night she died."

Camila's breath caught. Thomas's jaw tightened, but neither interrupted.

"I didn't go there by accident." Harriet continued, voice faltering. "I went there with the intention to kill her."

The weight of her confession hung in the air like a physical presence, pressing down on them all. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in with every word.

"I was so angry... scared... overwhelmed." she said, her eyes filling with tears she fought to hold back.

"She... she wasn't just my grandmother. She was a force of pain in our lives. That night, I thought if I ended her, maybe I could end the suffering for all of us. I kept thinking about Harper.. what she has been through.. how long would it be until enough was enough?"

Her voice cracked, memories flooding back in waves she couldn't control. "And when I confronted her, we talked. She told me things... things I wasn't ready to hear."

Camila leaned forward, voice soft and urgent. "What did she say, Harriet?"

Harriet's gaze dropped to the table, voice barely audible. "She said she knew about the baby."

A fragile silence fell between them. The word 'baby' trembled in the air like a secret finally laid bare.

"Baby? What baby?"

"I was pregnant." Harriet confessed, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I didn't tell anyone. Not you, not Dad, no one. I was terrified." Her breath hitched. "I had an abortion... I thought it was the only way to fix everything."

Thomas's expression softened, pain flickering behind his eyes. "Hattie, why didn't you come to us? We would've helped you."

"I was scared." Harriet whispered, "scared of being judged, scared of what you guys or grandma would do if she found out." She looked up at her parents, the weight of years pressing into her. 

"I didn't want you to know. Not yet."

Camila reached across the table, her hands trembling slightly as she took Harriet's in hers. 

Harriet squeezed her mother's hands, feeling the warmth beneath her cold skin. For a moment, the crushing burden seemed lighter, as if sharing it made it more bearable.

"She told me she would tell you.. I wasn't ready.. I was scared. Scared of disappointing you. I kept thinking what would happen? She said I was foolish. I was irresponsible."

Then Harriet's gaze hardened, determination flickering in her eyes through the tears. "If the police come for me." she said steadily, voice breaking but resolute.

"If they arrest me... I'm ready. I'll face whatever comes. Because I need to stop running from this."

Her parents sat in stunned silence, the unspoken question hanging between them—what had really happened that night? Harriet hadn't confessed to the killing. Not yet. But the storm was far from over.

The soft hum of the radiator filled the quiet of Harriet's bedroom as the night settled outside, casting pale blue shadows that stretched across the walls. The day's weight still clung to her skin, a heavy cloak she couldn't shrug off. She moved mechanically through her evening routine, the warmth of the shower barely cutting through the chill in her chest.

Steam curled in the air as she stepped out, wrapping a towel tightly around herself. The mirror above the sink reflected a face she barely recognized—eyes rimmed red, cheeks flushed with a mix of tears and exhaustion. She ran her fingers through her damp hair, each strand clinging to her skin like a reminder of everything she'd just admitted.

Now, in the stillness of her room, Harriet slipped into her pyjamas, the soft fabric grounding her in the moment. She padded quietly across the floorboards to her vanity, the surface cluttered with bottles and brushes, remnants of a life that felt far away.

Her eyes settled on a small bottle of pills sitting just where she had left them—hidden in plain sight. They were the same ones she had taken with her that night at her grandmother's house. The memory surged back. The cold weight of the bottle in her pocket, the desperate hope that these pills might bring an end or a release, whatever that meant then.

She reached out, fingertips brushing the bottle's cool surface, hesitating. The past and present tangled in her mind, a knot of fear, guilt, and fragile hope.

Harriet closed her eyes briefly, swallowing hard. She didn't want to be trapped by what had happened, by what she had planned. She wanted to find a way back to normal, or at least to peace.

Setting the bottle down, she lit a candle on the vanity, the flickering flame casting dancing shadows across the room. The soft light felt like a fragile promise — a tiny beacon in the darkness.

As Harriet slid under her sheets, the bottle sat silently beside her, a reminder of a night that would haunt her forever.