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Chapter_74
Quinn’s inner turmoil deepened as Abigail’s words haunted her, each syllable laced with both regret and a touch of defiance. She could feel the weight of the situation crushing her, the responsibility gnawing at her like an unrelenting force. The fragility of their friendship was laid bare, and Quinn couldn’t escape the fact that she felt responsible for so much of the suffering Abigail had endured.
The phone call from Abigail had left Quinn breathless, unable to speak, as her mind spiraled in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Abigail’s decision to turn herself in was both a painful act of atonement and a heartbreaking finality that Quinn couldn’t quite process. “Can you believe she betrayed me, my dear Quinn?” Abigail’s voice had trembled with a mixture of betrayal and sorrow, each word like a jagged knife.
Quinn’s throat constricted, and she clutched the phone tighter, her hands trembling with the weight of Abigail’s pain. The silence stretched on, suffocating, before Abigail’s voice broke through once again, calmer now, yet still tinged with despair. “I’ve decided to turn myself in. Would you like to see me one last time?”
Abigail’s suggestion felt like an ultimatum. The rawness of her voice as she offered Quinn this last chance to say goodbye—without expecting anything in return—crushed Quinn further.
The silence that followed was deafening, filled with unspoken words and the crushing weight of regret. Quinn, unable to form a coherent response, finally made the decision that shattered her, tapping the screen to end the call.
Her heart raced in her chest as she stood up, the weight of the decision hanging heavily on her. The finality of it was too much to bear, and without another thought, she rushed to the door. As she passed Juliet, who was holding a cup of tea, Quinn’s absence didn’t go unnoticed. The old woman stood there, perplexed, but Quinn didn’t stop to explain. She couldn’t—her heart was elsewhere, chasing a ghost she might already be too late to save.
The taxi ride felt like a blur, every second of it pressing down on her chest with the force of a hundred regrets. She had to see Abigail, to make sure she wasn’t too late, to somehow fix what had gone so wrong.
When Quinn arrived at the police station, her eyes immediately found the familiar motorcycle, with Abigail casually perched on it, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. She was so far removed from the despair Quinn had heard in her voice earlier, her posture relaxed, almost too carefree.
The sight of Abigail, so calm and collected, only deepened Quinn’s confusion. How could someone so full of life be so willing to throw it all away? It was as if everything she had known about Abigail was a lie.
As Quinn rushed toward her, Abigail flicked the cigarette aside, a grin spreading across her face at the sight of her. “So, did you get all dolled up just to see me?” she teased, the warmth in her voice cutting through the tension in Quinn’s chest.
Quinn, still breathless, glanced down at her simple white sweater and slacks, a stark contrast to Abigail’s bold, rebellious presence. She felt out of place in her own skin, but Abigail’s teasing laughter made her feel oddly lighter.
“Just kidding,” Abigail added, her fingers reaching out to pinch Quinn’s cheek affectionately, a touch that felt too familiar, too comforting.
Her gaze softened as she looked at Quinn’s midsection, and Quinn’s heart stuttered. Abigail’s gentle touch was a reminder of everything she had lost. “How’s the little one?” she asked, her voice tender, yet laced with something bittersweet.
Quinn’s throat tightened. The words wouldn’t come. Her eyes, however, betrayed her—tears welled up and spilled over, the weight of the last few weeks crashing down on her all at once. How can I be here for her when I can’t even be here for myself? she thought.
Abigail, ever perceptive, noticed the tears and gently wiped one from Quinn’s cheek. “What’s with the waterworks? Too many tears aren’t good for the baby. By the time I get out, he’ll be learning to walk, right?” Her teasing tone didn’t mask the deep care in her voice, a care that Quinn was certain had been overshadowed by everything else.
But as Quinn’s lips trembled, and the tears flowed freely, she could no longer hold back the weight of the grief that consumed her. “My dearest brought me the deepest losses,” Quinn thought, her heart shattering. “One is my child, and the other is my best friend. They are both slipping away from me.”
The finality of Abigail’s decision felt like a cruel joke—one that Quinn couldn’t laugh at, no matter how hard she tried. She stood there, the two of them locked in this fragile moment of connection, as if the world had stopped spinning just for them. But even as she reached out, as she tried to hold onto something that felt so desperately out of her grasp, Quinn knew she was losing both Abigail and the life she had imagined for herself.
