Chapter 20 - The Strawberry StandOn a warm Saturday afternoon in June, I pulled my car over near a quiet roadside fruit stand along Highway 1.
The sun was bright, casting long, golden beams across the wooden crates of fresh produce. The smell of ocean salt and sweet, sun-ripened fruit filled the warm air.
I walked up to the counter, where small green plastic baskets were heaped high with dark, ripe strawberries.
I reached down, picking up a basket, feeling the weight of the fruit in my hand.
For a long moment, I stood there in the sunlight, remembering the girl who had bought strawberries fourteen months ago—a girl who thought her worth depended on keeping peace in a house built on lies.
May you like
I smiled, paid the farmer, and walked back to my car.
I set the basket on the passenger seat, turned the key in the ignition, and drove along the coast toward home, leaving the darkness behind for good.
