Page 37 of Of Heather and Thistle
She read it twice. Then a third time. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t hopeful. It wasn’t a door left open. It was just… the truth. She pressed send. And let it go.
Her phone buzzed almost instantly. She barely had time to unlock the screen before Ivy’s name flashed again. Heather hesitated to look. She knew it wouldn’t be a heartfelt goodbye. But still, some part of her needed to see it, so with a deep breath, she opened it.
“Oh, so you finally decided to say something. How thoughtful.”
Heather’s stomach tightened. …of course.
A beat later, another text came through—petty, venomous.
“Enjoy your fancy castle life. Try not to get trampled by a cow or sheep or whatever.”
Heather exhaled slowly, willing herself to stay calm. Another buzz, another message. This time, it cut deeper.
“And next time you decide to go crying to Mark, maybe remember that not everything is about you. Hope you two are happy gossiping about me.”
There it was.Ivy wasn’t just mad that she was leaving. Ivy was mad that Mark knew—mad that he’d called her out. Mad that, for once, someone had taken Heather’s side.
Her chest ached—not with guilt, but with something sharper. Final. Inevitable. And surprisingly, she didn’t feel the need to reply.
It wasn’t just the words. It was how fast Ivy responded like she’d been waiting to twist the knife, like the idea of Heather moving on was something she couldn’t stand.
An unwanted feeling crept in—that old ache of wanting Ivy’s approval, even when Ivy didn’t deserve to give it.
For so long, Ivy had been the center of their friendship. The one who shined, who dictated the rules, who decided what mattered and what didn’t. And Heather had always been the supporting role. Even now, even after everything, Ivy still thought she had the power to reduce Heather to nothing with a few careless words. Heather’s fingers curled tightly around her phone. And then—She laughed.
It was a quiet, bitter, incredulous laugh. Because this was pathetic. Ivy wasn’t hurt; Ivy wasn’t heartbroken. She was pissed that Heather had the audacity to leave.
Heather set the phone down firmly, flipping it face-down. She wasn’t falling into this again. She wasn’t letting Ivy’s words poison her excitement, her choices, and her future. Because Ivy would never get it. She never had. She never would.
Heather took a deep breath now, pressing her palms against her thighs, grounding herself. Engaging with Ivy would only drag her back into the same exhausting cycle. Ivy didn’t think she’d done anything wrong, and she never would. There was no point in a losing battle. Heather had said goodbye. And that was all she needed to do.
Byrdie stretched beside her, her soft purr filling the silence. Heather reached out, scratching behind Byrdie’s ears, findingcomfort in the steady, unbothered presence of her cat.
“That’s enough of that…” she muttered, more to herself than to Byrdie.
Heather didn’t even bother checking if Ivy responded again. Instead, she stood, crossing the room to her half-packed suitcase.
Because Scotland was waiting.
And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t waiting on someone else to decide her worth.
She was deciding it for herself.
And that felt better than any apology Ivy could have given.
Heather stood and knelt by her suitcase, smoothing out a soft cable-knit sweater. Morning would come fast, and she still had too much to do. Her packing had been slow, deliberate—each item a quiet act of faith. In comfort. In readiness. In herself.
She folded the new jeans and tucked them beside her Barbour jacket—armor for the Highlands. A few scarves followed, rich greens and deep burgundies that reminded her of autumn in Millhaven.
She paused at the shopping bag from the lingerie boutique. The delicate lace and satin inside felt like more than just indulgence. They were tokens of something new. Of feeling beautiful for herself.
Heather folded the blush satin first, then the timeless black lace, then the embroidered bralette and matching panties—each piece making her feel soft, feminine,seen.
She traced the cashmere robe with her fingers, smiling as she imagined slipping it on in a grand old room at Glenoran. A quiet thrill rose in her chest.
These weren’t just clothes. They were a promise—toembrace change, to believe she was worth the effort.
She stood and stretched, then wandered toward the window. Outside, the city moved on as if nothing was changing. But everything was.
