The piece of wood, once almost whole, broke cleanly in two.
Petty dropped to her knees in the middle of the wreckage, sifting through the broken pieces with her hands. Her fingertips caught on a nail, drawing blood that splattered onto the wood. She barely noticed, just kept her head down and rifled through the mess, moving faster and faster.
“Petty!” Harris called her name, trying to snap her out of it, but she didn’t even flinch.
He crouched next to her, tossing aside the more dangerous scraps so she wouldn’t hurt herself any more. He took her bleeding hand in his, holding it tight, and dug through the rubble with his other hand.
Then, suddenly, Petty’s hands stilled.
Buried under the debris was a small wooden board, its corners softly rounded by someone’s careful work. The paint had long since faded, worn away by years of wind and rain, but the words carved into it were still clear.
Petty’s Secret Base
She stared at it, her eyes swimming with tears. She grabbed the board, clutching it to her chest like it could keep her heart from breaking. It felt as if someone had ripped her heart right out of her chest and left her bleeding.
Her father had carved those words with her, guiding her hand, letter by letter.
Shakily, she pushed herself up.
The breeze picked up, tossing her hair and sweeping the strands from her forehead, exposing a dark bruise from where she’d been hit. The mark stood out, deep and angry against her pale skin.
Franco stood under the porch, his eyes locked on her, his expression tight.
Petty’s voice cracked through the silence. “Why?”
She was leaving for another country in just over a month. Laura knew that. She knew Petty didn’t care about Franco anymore. So why now, of all times, did Laura have to do something like this? Why destroy what little she had left?
Laura’s answer was calm, her voice almost gentle. “The treehouse was falling apart. It was a safety risk. I had to have it taken down for everyone’s safety.”
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