Chapter 2: Garden Rivalries and Ghosts

A month after the wedding, Grandma Rose threw a garden party. The whole town seemed to show up, the backyard buzzing with laughter and gossip.

In the backyard, the town’s old families poured sweet tea and cider, swapped lines from favorite poems, and admired the flowers. The scent of fresh-cut grass and blooming peonies drifted through the air, mixing with the hum of cicadas. I stood at the edge of the crowd, the sunlight hot on my shoulders, feeling like I was watching someone else’s life.

At their urging, Grandma Rose played matchmaker, eager to set people up. Her eyes sparkled as she surveyed the crowd, always looking for the next perfect match.

Savannah was there too. She stood out, her presence impossible to ignore.

Carter and I made our appearance together, doing our duty as newlyweds. The tension between us was a silent thread, pulled tight.

But when I spotted that graceful, almost ethereal figure under the maple tree, I saw Carter’s eyes go cold. His knuckles whitened around his cup, jaw clenched tight. I felt a pang of something I didn’t want to name.

She was the kind of woman every man noticed. I watched Carter watching her, and my heart twisted. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

Savannah was beautiful—fair skin, delicate features, but what caught me was the way she tucked a stray curl behind her ear, almost nervously. She always seemed a little out of place, as if she was searching for something she’d lost.

Young men tried to talk to her, but her brows always held a quiet sadness, like she was somewhere else entirely. I wondered if anyone else noticed, or if I was the only one who saw the shadow in her eyes.

She looked past the crowd at Carter, her expression a mix of longing and challenge, like she was daring him to look away. There was something in her gaze—resentment, maybe, or a secret only the two of them shared.

When another young man invited Savannah to join his poetry group—using the garden tour as an excuse—

Carter shot up from his seat, chair scraping the patio. The whole party went silent, heads turning to watch.

No one knew what was happening. The tension was electric, buzzing in the air.

They only saw Carter storm across the lawn, his presence like a thundercloud. The young men and women froze, eyes wide.

Only Savannah stood tall, steady as a wildflower in the wind. Her chin lifted, and for a second, it was just the two of them in the world.

The two of them exchanged a look—silent, charged, full of history. I felt it in my bones, a storm brewing just out of sight.

I reached out, stopping Mrs. Chambers before she could intervene. My hand trembled, but I held her back.

Even the most oblivious guest could see the tension crackling between Carter and Savannah. You could practically taste it in the air.

I stayed seated, heart pounding, forcing myself to breathe.

The table was knocked askew by Carter’s sudden movement; cider and sweet tea spilled across my dress, soaking the fabric and sticking it to my skin. The cold shock made me gasp, shivering as the chill worked its way through me.

Behind him, Savannah smiled, just barely—a sly, knowing look. She was playing the long game, letting Carter lose his cool in front of everyone.

The spring breeze still held a bite, and my wet skirt sent a cold shiver down my spine. I gritted my teeth, determined not to let anyone see me falter.

Weirdly, I felt relief—Lillian, guard your heart this time and maybe you won’t end up shattered. The sting of the cold grounded me. I promised myself: I’d be smarter, tougher, this time around.

On my way back to the house alone, my phone buzzed with notifications. The comments already had Carter’s location pinned, tracking his every move like it was a reality show.

In the still-empty guest room, Savannah was crying. Her shoulders shook, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Mascara streaked her cheeks, and her hands trembled as she tried to wipe the tears away.

“I shouldn’t have come back with my memories. Then I wouldn’t have tortured myself by officiating my own husband’s wedding!” Her voice cracked, raw and honest. The pain in her words was sharp enough to cut.

Carter stood in the doorway, torn. In the end, he crossed the room and hugged her, his arms awkward but sincere. “You know Lillian’s my wife.”

“What about me?”

Savannah’s voice was thick with hurt. “She’s the wife! She has your love, everyone respects her, she’s got it all!”

“In this life, I have no husband, no kids, I’m not even your girlfriend—I have nothing!”

At the mention of kids, Carter’s face shifted—his eyes softened, and a longing flickered there. The memory of his child was written all over him.

But in the end, he left the guest room, muttering, “Lilly may be gentle, but if I was with someone else a month into our marriage—she’d be furious.”

Watching Carter leave, Savannah crouched down, hugging her knees tight, her sobs muffled by her arms. The sound of her crying filled the room, raw and aching. I felt it in my own chest, a twist of sympathy I didn’t want to admit.

She was unwilling. The word echoed in the silence.

Why?

Why was she sent back?

Why was I still alive?

The comments started piling up, full of internet snark and meme energy: “Bro, the main dude’s not gonna let his girl take the fall this time. Seriously, Savannah’s getting done dirty.”

“Not even shipping anyone, but I feel bad for Lillian. The other two get a second chance, and she’s just stuck dying early again? Plot’s a dumpster fire, honestly.”

“Love triangle? They want true love. True love? They want drama. Now they’re testing real love? LMAO, pick a lane!”

The comments could get weird sometimes, but I understood what they meant. I felt it, deep down.

What did he want?

He wanted it all—he wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

Fifty-year-old Lillian would never chase after a lost love.

But eighteen-year-old Lillian? She’d get angry. She’d get jealous. She’d fight for what she wanted.

Carter rushed to the bedroom, clearly rattled, just as the bridesmaids were helping me change out of my soaked dress.

“Lilly.”

He came over, eyes full of worry, voice soft. He looked like he wanted to say a hundred things and couldn’t pick just one.

I ignored him. My silence was its own answer.

Carter hesitated, then crouched down and helped me change my shoes and socks. His dark suit brushed the floor, tangling with my damp skirt. His hands were gentle, but I kept my eyes averted.

“Lilly.”

“It’s not what you think.”

Then what is it?

Was your happiness fake when you found out Savannah was pregnant?

Were all those stormy nights, when you held her through her fear of thunder, just a lie too?

I turned my head away, and a tear slid down my cheek. I bit my lip, refusing to let another fall.

Carter’s fingers were cold as he wiped the tear away. His touch lingered, gentle but uncertain.

He took my hand and pressed it to his chest, his expression open and raw. “This heart will always belong to Lilly.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, the kind of quiet that begs to be believed. For a second, I almost let myself believe him.

After Carter left, Mrs. Chambers found me and said, “Honey, you can’t trust a man’s words! Not when he’s got two women fighting over him.”

“One month after the wedding and Grandma Rose is already trying to shove her niece from her side of the family into Carter’s life. She didn’t even care about your feelings, trying to set Savannah up with him right in front of you.”

“You and Carter might’ve grown up together, but men change their minds. That Savannah girl? She’ll move in sooner or later, you watch.”

By the end, Mrs. Chambers was in tears, voice trembling with anger. “They’re just picking on you because you’re alone!”

My grandpa, dad, and brothers died serving overseas. My mom took her own life for love. The pain was old, but it never faded.

The Whitman family was left with me, just one girl.

When I got married, there were no elders left to stand beside me. The empty seats at the reception said it all.

Even my wedding registry—I had to set it up myself, stumbling through it all. I remember standing in the store, staring at rows of china patterns, wondering which one said ‘family’ when you didn’t have one anymore. The loneliness was sharp, but I kept going.

If I could, I’d want other choices too.

Not just to be the one who gets picked.