Chapter Eighty five - Molly's Diner

The roads were empty, save for the occasional sweep of a streetlight flickering through the windshield. Millie's hands were tight around the wheel, knuckles pale as she pulled into the cracked gravel lot of Molly's Diner, a twenty-four-hour joint that looked like it hadn't been updated since the 1980's. A flickering neon sign buzzed above the windows, casting a sickly pink hue onto the pavement.

Inside the car, Harper slept. Not the gentle kind of sleep that came with rest—but the bone-deep, collapsed kind that came after your mind had sprinted for hours and finally gave out.

She was curled up in the passenger seat, her feet were bruised from running, legs folded beneath her like she was trying to take up as little space in the world as possible. Her lips moved slightly now and then, murmuring things Millie couldn't make out.

Millie sat there a minute, just watching her. Listening to the sound of Harper's breathing, shallow but steady.

An hour ago, Harper had looked like a girl on the verge of falling off the earth—wild-eyed, shaking, muttering that people were watching her, that they were whispering about her, blaming her. She kept saying they know what I did, though she couldn't—or wouldn't—say what that was.

Now she was silent. But the silence felt fragile.

Millie cracked the window and carefully stepped out, letting the cold night air slap her awake. The diner door jingled behind her as she stepped inside.

The place was empty. A lone man behind the counter—older, white beard, watching a baseball game rerun on mute—gave her a nod. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed relentlessly, bouncing off chrome and formica, the smell of burnt coffee lingering like a ghost.

She ordered a black coffee and waited, pulling her phone from her pocket. Her thumb hovered a moment before pressing on the only contact she knew would pick up.

He answered on the second ring, voice groggy, cautious. "Millie?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry—it's really late—"

"No, it's okay." Cody said, instantly alert. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

She stepped toward the far corner of the diner, lowering her voice. "I... I found Harper."

A pause.

"You what?"

"She was running down Route 4. Alone. Middle of the night. I was heading home and—I saw her. She looked... completely out of it, Cody. She didn't even recognise me at first. She was like, full mental jacket."

The line went quiet, but she could hear his breath pick up. 

"She's supposed to be at Warren. My mom said she's been doing better."

Millie swallowed. "She was having what I think was like, a manic episode. She kept repeating things, looking over her shoulder, It was like she wasn't here. Like she was somewhere else entirely."

"She ran away from Warren?" Cody said, disbelieving. "But Mom and Dad said she said she'd been painting and writing a lot. They had her doing mindfulness and yoga. She sounded okay."

"I know." Millie shook her head. "That's what scares me most."

The barista called her name. She took the coffee without thanking him and headed back outside, clutching the cup like a lifeline.

"Where are you?" Cody asked.

She rattled off the location. "Parking lot of Molly's Diner."

"I'm coming." Cody said, voice steely. "Don't leave her."

"I won't." Millie murmured. "Please hurry."

Soon enough, Cody's car pulled smoothly into the nearly empty parking lot, the headlights cutting through the thick blanket of night like twin searchlights. The asphalt was cold and damp, reflecting faint pools of neon pink and blue from the diner's buzzing sign. The air was sharp, scented faintly with the distant tang of frying oil and stale coffee — a reminder that the world never truly sleeps.

Millie stood by her car, arms crossed tightly against the chill creeping in from the open night. The streetlight overhead flickered occasionally, casting wavering shadows across her tired face. Her dark hair was tousled from the long drive, strands falling loose and catching the light. The subtle tremble in her shoulders wasn't from the cold alone.

Cody climbed out of his car with the quiet, practiced ease of someone used to careful movements, as if he didn't want to disturb the fragile quiet around them. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze lingering on Millie. She looked smaller than he remembered, more vulnerable somehow — but there was still that fierce set to her jaw, the unyielding determination in her eyes.

"Hey.." Millie said softly, voice thick with exhaustion.

"Hey." Cody replied, his voice low and rough with unspoken things.

He shifted his weight, glancing toward the passenger seat of Millie's car. "She's really in there?"

Millie nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah. Still asleep. I think all that running knocked her out."

Cody's breath hitched, and he moved closer, resting one hand on the roof of the car. He peered in through the window, the glass cool beneath his fingertips. Harper lay slumped in the seat, her chest rising and falling slowly — fragile, vulnerable, distant.

She looked younger than her years in this moment, like the weight of the world had shrunk her down to a scared child again. That image slammed into Cody's chest like a physical blow, and he swallowed hard.

"I really thought she was okay." he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Millie's eyes softened with a mixture of sadness and something fiercer — protective, raw. "I thought so too.""

Cody sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake the weight from his shoulders. 

"My parents keep telling me she's getting better. That Warren is helping her. That the doctors have a handle on it."

They stood in silence, the hum of the neon sign buzzing between them like a heartbeat. The world around them felt impossibly still, as if the night had paused to watch this fragile moment unfold.

"She looked terrified." Millie said quietly, breaking the silence. "Shaking. Talking absolute nonsense about people after her, I couldn't get through to her. I had to slap her to make her snap out of it. "

Cody's eyes darkened with a storm of emotions. He dropped down to the curb, elbows on knees, head bowed like a man weighed down by almost guilt and helplessness.

Millie moved to sit beside him, the space between them closing until their shoulders almost touched. The warmth of her presence was like a fragile lifeline.

"She really trusts you." Cody said, voice cracked but sincere. "Maybe she will tell you what is going on."

Millie looked down, tracing invisible patterns on the rough concrete with her finger. 

Their eyes met — and in that instant, something shifted. 

"You've always been there for her, more than most." Cody continued, voice dropping to a whisper. "And for me, too. When everything was falling apart, you were the one person who never looked away."

His gaze softened, trembling with the weight of memories and emotions too heavy to carry alone.

Millie swallowed hard, heart pounding in her chest. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"I'm not." he said quickly. "I'm just telling you the truth."

A cold breeze stirred, tangling her hair around her face. She turned toward him slowly, the world narrowing until it was just the two of them.

"I was really scared tonight." she admitted, voice breaking slightly. "I've seen Harper spiral before, but this... this was different. She was gone, Cody. Like she didn't know who I was at first. And all I could think was — what if I hadn't been driving down that road?"

Cody's hand found hers without hesitation, fingers curling around hers in a gentle, familiar grasp. His thumb brushed soothing circles over the back of her hand.

"You were there." he said softly. "Like you always are."

She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in just a little, the warmth of their shared touch grounding her.

"I don't know what she needs right now." Millie whispered. "Or how to fix any of this. But I couldn't leave her alone. So I just drove."

"I don't want you to be alone in this either." Cody murmured, voice low and steady.

Her eyes searched his, wide and hopeful, and something unspoken passed between them — a shared pain and an even deeper yearning.

Cody leaned closer, careful not to rush, but close enough to say, I'm here. I've always been here.

Millie's breath hitched. "I've missed you. I know we haven't been around each other as much as we used to. With life getting in the way and stuff.. But I've really missed you."

He smiled — a small, sad, honest smile that reached his eyes. "You never lost me."

Behind them, Harper shifted slightly in her sleep, the faintest sigh escaping her lips. Safe, at least for now.