FOR YOU.

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How did Adelaide's mother feel when she found out about the affair between her daughter and her lover, and what happened to her afterwards?

The roots of the cherry blossom tree creaked and its branches slammed against the windowpane. The glass shivered beneath its touch, and for every hit, it let out a melodious cry that echoed in the mind of the dark haired woman.
The cold from the floor had seeped into her bones, and now even the tears on her cheeks were turning into ice. A white cloud rose from her lips, and through her glassy eyes she could see the five postcards. They were lying in front of her, tattered and dirty, telling a love story she had never wished to read. But she had, she had read them. And now their words were carved so deeply into her she feared the scarring would never fade.
The branches beat against the window, and her heart beat against the diamonds within her chest. It beat, and beat, and beat, until it broke through.
As the cherry blossom tree fell, broken glass scattered on the floor in Adelaide's room, along with the diamonds that had once lined her mother's treasure chest.
Three days later, when a bouquet of rotten flowers fell from a policewoman's lips, Abigail Navarre bent down, picked up the diamonds, and embedded them so deep into her heart no one could ever break it again.
Did she ever see him again? No, but her stepson's children did, between the pages of their art history books.

What happened to Adelaide's friends once they found out about her death?

It looked as though the willow tree was weeping. Droplets of rain fell from its branches like the tears from their eyes, and when they landed they were colored brown by the mud that had replaced the once so green grass. Beneath it stood three people, of whom we already know so much. They were looking out at the schoolyard. It was empty, everyone else having sought refuge from the unforgiving rain, but they stood there, feeling the rain trickle down their spines.
"I knew it was goodbye," Leah said. "I just didn't know it was farewell." Her words were rain, and her mind was the skies; grey and heavy with tears. Kieran put an arm around her and pulled her closer.
"None of us knew, not even her." He said, sadness dripping from his voice. Leah trembled in his arms, slowly choking on her sorrow. Her cheeks were wet, but she didn't know whether if was from the rain or from her tears. It was fitting, in a way, that the weather reflected their emotions, as if nature herself was grieving.
"How did we get so lucky?" Leith asked, stardust on his lips. He walked away from the others, only stopping when he reached the trunk of the tree. He lifted a hand, feeling the rough bark beneath his fingers before he said: "How did we get so damn lucky as to get to love her?" and jammed a pocketknife into the flesh of the tree.
That spring, the willow stood green and alive, with a heart carved deep into its trunk.

What happened to Francis, the old man who owned the greenhouse?

The storm raged outside his window, and his joints moaned in complaint as he lay down in his bed. The house that had once vibrated with the sound of children now lay quiet, the joys of yesteryear echoing in the empty rooms. His children had all grown up, and now the old man was alone, more so than he had ever been.
He pulled the covers over his old body, and his kind eyes landed on the photo on his nightstand. It was taken sixty years ago, on his wedding day. His arms were wrapped around his wife, hiding the small bump that was starting to form beneath her dress. They were both smiling, their eyes glowing with a tenderness that had coloured their marriage a warm yellow.
"Goodnight my love," he said, and kissed the photo goodnight, one last time. Francis Lawrence died that night, the pink petals of the cherry blossom tree softly caressing his cheeks as it fell.

What happened to the substitute teacher who misgendered Leah, why did the stones inside of him actually melt?

The birds outside his window were singing, and the pleasant smell of coffee tickled his nose as he opened the morning paper. The sun flowed through his window, blinding him, and for a moment, he went completely blind. Blue specks danced mockingly in front of his eyes, hiding the black letters behind their sunny skirts. He blinked hard, and after a while, the little dancers fell asleep.
He flipped though the pages of the paper, the news of the world flashed in front of his eyes like a never-ending slideshow of tragedy. Catastrophes. Wars. Politics. An infinite wheel of pain that seemed to spin faster every day. But suddenly he stopped, and found himself staring at the pages, where they announce weddings and deaths side by side. It didn't strike him then, how deliciously ironic it was, that sorrow and joy stood side by side like that; like a parody of life. He was far too busy feeling flames lick his mind. Because there, printed on the pages of his favourite newspaper, was a face he hadn't seen in ten years.
He read carefully, the flaming letters burning his eyes, and as his lips wrapped around the name he had never before spoken, the stones inside of him finally melted. Because there, on the pages where they announce weddings and deaths side by side, he saw that Leah Burgundy was getting married.

Why did you choose to kill both of Harry's lovers in the same way?

I knew very early that "Daddy Issues" wouldn't have a happy ending, but it wasn't until the story of Harry's first love bloomed in my mind that I could see the ending take form. It was so cruel, so ironical, so perfect that I couldn't resist, and as I continued writing, it became clear to me that there could be no other conclusion to this story. Originally, I was going to apologize for the pain I caused you, but now I realize that I could never do that. I could never apologize for something I wasn't truly sorry for, and I'm not, I'm not sorry for ending the book the way I did.

Will you write anything else?

If I were to reply to this question, you would not like the answer. So I wont. In stead, I will tell you the truth, and the truth is that I am tried. The winter darkness has closed down around me, and though the stars in my eyes still shine bright, they are scattered, and no constellations can be made of them. I need some time, some time to build myself up again. I poured so much of myself into "Daddy Issues, " and now that it is finished, I don't know what to feel. Should I be happy with what I have achieved, or should I try again, knowing that it will never truly be the same? Or maybe, just maybe, it is time for me to move on to bigger projects. The world is big, and full of possibilities, I just have to be brave enough to try.

Will you publish "Daddy Issues"?

For you to understand the answer I am about to give you, you have to know that this isn't just a question, it is a problem, a problem with three aspects.

1. Social

Where I come from, liking One Direction isn't acceptable. You can admit that you listen to their music, and that they have some great songs, but you can never say that you like them, never. I had my reasons for picking Harry Styles as one of my main characters, and you know them, because they were the first thing you read when you started this book. However, if I were I publish this book, and people figured out that Harry had been the original protagonist, they would think it was a book about him. But it isn't, you understand that, but they don't.

2. Moral

A couple of years ago, when I found out that "After" was getting published, I was angry. Angry and disappointed, because I thought of what it would feel like, if someone had done that to me: used me to write a book, without my consent. Although I realize a lot of my dislike for "After" stems from it not just being a fanfiction, but a story of an abusive relationship, the thought still sticks with me. What would it feel like, to be used in that way? I don't know, and I don't know what Harry would feel like, I just know I would never want to hurt him.

3. Practical

Even if I was to ignore the problems above, the last aspect of the problem still stands in front of me like a wall. And that is that, even if I did decide to publish "Daddy Issues," I would have no idea how to do it.

If you take your time to look upon these aspects, these problems, I think you understand the answer to the question. I did too once, but now I am not so sure, and though my flowers will continue to grow within this fragile greenhouse, there might come a day when they get to breathe fresh air. I don't know, only time will tell.


This is it; the ending of "Daddy Issues." There will be no more words, no more chapters, and no more flowers intended for the curly haired boy and the golden girl, except for those blooming inside of your lovely hearts. But before I leave you, I want to give you something; First, I want to give you something that was given to me, by one of you. It's a trailer, a beautiful depiction of my work, brought to life by @Halsey_BadLands. You might have seen it already, because it is right there, at the beginning of this chapter.
Then, as a bittersweet goodbye, I want to tell you a secret. It is a secret that will unlock the very last metaphor of this book, one none of you have deciphered. It is a secret hidden in the bouquets and in the meadows, in their hearts and in ours; it is the secret of the flowers, and what they really mean. Every bloom, every bud, every blossom, is a word in a story you have yet to read. You just have to learn their language.

All the love
K. 

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