Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 23

5:00 p.m.

The sky was dipped in soft gold, like someone had taken a brush and painted over the town with honey. Shadows stretched long across the pavement, and the trees along the school fence rustled in rhythm with the late afternoon breeze. The sun hadn’t set yet, but it was leaning close, close enough that the clouds were tinged with peach and coral. The heat had mellowed, humid, but no longer suffocating. Even the air felt slower.

I parked the car right outside the school gate and leaned back against the seat, one hand resting on the wheel. I could feel my heart pushing against my ribs, steady and unsure.

Then, there she was.

Betty.

She walked through the gate beside Inez, and for a second, I swear, it was like seeing a memory. Her dress was a long-sleeved muted pink satin that caught the light just enough to shimmer. Her hair curled softly at the ends, brushing her collarbone, and for a heartbeat she looked like the old her, the girl from before everything strated to fall.

I got out of the car and opened the door on the passenger side. She didn’t say anything. Just smiled faintly and slipped into the seat like she’d done it a thousand times before.

That’s when I caught it, just before Betty turned away. Inez glanced at me, eyes sharp, and then subtly pointed to her wrist.

She must've saw Betty's wounds on her wrist.

I flinched, blinking hard. My stare locked with hers. Please. Don’t say anything. I tried to say it with just a look. I think she heard it. Her expression softened. The sharp concern in her eyes melted into something quieter, something understanding. She gave a tiny nod, the kind you give at funerals or on the phone when you're trying not to cry. I mouthed a quiet, thank you, and she nodded once more before turning to walk toward Tim and Drake.

I closed the door and slid into the driver’s seat. Betty was already on her phone, thumbs tapping out a message. “Just texting my dad,” she said without looking up. “Told him I’ll be late.”

“Cool,” I said. My voice was steady. Maybe too steady.

I glanced back into the rearview mirror.

Inez had reached Tim now. At first, it looked like a simple hug. Her head against his chest, arms loose. But then I noticed the small jolts in her shoulders, gentle at first, then more pronounced. She was shaking. Not in drama, not loud sobs or flailing limbs, but like something inside her was tearing quietly. There was something reverent about it, something sacred in her restraint. She clung to Tim like Mary at the foot of the cross, watching someone she loved suffer and knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her body bent forward slightly, trembling under the weight of pain she couldn’t express. And then, like her sorrow had finally won, her knees buckled. She sank to the pavement slowly, almost with grace. A silent collapse. Grief like that... it felt biblical. Holy. Like she was mourning for someone already gone.

My chest tightened. I swallowed hard, blinked fast. I didn’t want Betty to see. Not now. Not when she looked that much like herself again. So I looked forward, hands on the wheel, pretending I didn’t just watch one of the strongest girls I knew fall apart behind me.

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The dining room was too quiet.

Only the soft scrape of utensils against porcelain broke the silence. No one spoke at first. The lights were too bright - white and clinical. The long rectangular table sat four: Betty across from my mom, and me across from my dad, who carved his steak like it had wronged him personally.