Page 49 of Healing Hearts
“Yes,” I say, my voice growing more confident, my inner Sophie coming out in spades. “I’ve been writing under the pen name Sophie Quinn for years. It’s me. I’m Sophie Quinn.”
Kendall claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh my God.Oh my God!I’ve been fangirling over mybest friend’sbooks this whole time. I’m going to scream.”
Charlie looks between me and the crowd, then back at Vivian, her expression turning sly. “Well, well. Guess the drama queen got it wrong,” she says, raising her glass in a mock toast. “Here’s toSophie Quinnputting Vivian in her place.”
The crowd breaks into scattered applause, and someone shouts, “I want an autograph!”
Vivian’s face flushes crimson, her composure crumbling. “This isn’t over,” she snaps, but her voice wavers as the crowd turns its attention back to me.
Trevor slips an arm around my waist, his grin lighting up the room. “You did it, babe,” he whispers. “You really did it.”
I let out the breath I was holding, a smile breaking acrossmy face. For the first time, the weight of my secret feels lighter, and as the crowd cheers, I realize I’m ready for whatever comes next.
The next morning, a heavy sense of foreboding settles over me like a storm cloud as I approach the school. The cheerful chatter of students and the occasional laugh echo down the hallway, but I barely notice. My steps falter when I spot Mr. Gray standing stiffly outside the library doors. His arms are crossed over his chest, his sharp features accentuated by the sour expression he’s wearing.
In his hand is a copy of my latest novel, its sultry cover glaringly out of place under the stark fluorescent lights. My heart drops, and my palms begin to sweat. This can’t be good.
“Miss Edwards,” he says, his tone clipped and formal, though his lip curls as he adds, “or should I saySophie Quinn?”
My stomach twists into knots. The hallway feels colder, and the buzz of fluorescent lights above grows deafening.
“Can we talk in my office?” His words are heavy with disappointment, leaving no room for argument. He doesn’t wait for a response, spinning on his heel and striding toward the administrative wing.
I hesitate for a brief moment, glancing back at the library I love so much before following him. The trek to his office feels longer than it should, each step heavy with dread. By the time I take the seat he gestures toward, my nerves are stretched thin.
The ensuing meeting is a whirlwind of sharp words and veiled accusations. Mr. Gray paces behind his desk like a warden delivering a harsh sentence, the copy of my book clutched tightly in his hand.
“This,” he begins, shaking the novel as though it were acrime scene weapon, “is entirely inappropriate for someone in your position. Writing this kind of material while serving as an educator is unbecoming, to say the least. What kind of message do you think this sends to the children and their families?”
His voice is sharp, each word cutting deeper than the last. “Poor role model,” he continues. “Unprofessional. A disgrace to this institution.”
The clock on the wall ticks loudly, each second stretching into an eternity. My mind swirls with indignation and disbelief. Does he seriously think this disqualifies me as a librarian? I’ve poured my heart and soul into this school, creating programs that inspire young minds, hosting storytime sessions that light up children’s faces, and fostering a love of reading that I hope will last a lifetime.
When he pauses for breath, I find my voice—quiet but steady. “Mr. Gray, I’ve dedicated years to this school. Years. My students love coming to the library because I’ve made it a welcoming, creative space. My writing doesn’t change that.”
His eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. “It’s not about your library work. It’s about the image you present as an educator. Parents expect a certain standard of moral conduct from their children’s role models.”
“Moral conduct?” I echo, anger bubbling to the surface. “You mean the kind that encourages creativity, empathy, and understanding? Because that’s what my books promote, even if they’re not meant for children.”
He scoffs, tossing the book onto his desk as if it’s tainted. “This is nonnegotiable, Miss Edwards. Either you agree to distance yourself from this... side career, or we’ll have to reevaluate your place here.”
My heart sinks. He’s not giving me a choice. It’s comply or leave—suppress the very part of myself that brings me joy and fulfillment, or give up the job I’ve built my life around.
I push my chair back, the legs scraping against the tiledfloor. “You know what?” I say, my voice trembling, not with fear but with fury. I grab my book he just tossed onto the desk, open up the cover and write a message and then sign my pen name with flourish. I hold the book up and hand it to him. When he opens up the cover to see what I wrote, I read it to him. “I quit. I can’t work—won’t work—for someone who treats their employees like this. Love, Sophie Quinn.”
Mr. Gray’s eyes widen, and for a fleeting moment, I see the flicker of surprise in his otherwise stoic demeanor. “Now, Miss Edwards, let’s not be hasty?—”
“No,” I cut him off, my resolve firm. “This isn’t hasty. This is my destiny.”
Without waiting for his response, I snatch up my bag, turn on my heel, and walk out of his office. The slam of the door behind me feels like a punctuation mark on this chapter of my life. My heart is pounding, adrenaline surging through my veins as I march down the hall. Students and teachers glance at me curiously, but I don’t stop.
By the time I reach the parking lot, the reality of what I’ve just done crashes down on me. My hands are trembling as I fumble with my car keys. I take a deep, shaky breath and drive to the one place I know I’ll find comfort.
When I reach the hospital, my nerves are frayed. Trevor is in the staff lounge when I walk in, his scrubs slightly wrinkled and his hair adorably messy. His face lights up when he sees me, but his smile quickly fades when he notices the look on my face.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his concern immediate. He crosses the room in three long strides and pulls me into his arms. “Brooke, talk to me.”
The dam breaks. I recount everything—Mr. Gray’s accusations, his ultimatum, and my decision to walk away. By the time I finish, my voice is trembling, and tears are streaming downmy cheeks.
