Chapter 5: Dorothy
Chapter 5: Dorothy
POV: Stella Morris
Location: Pine Hollow, Main Street Bakery
Timeline: One year ago
I followed him through the dark, the night air biting through my jacket.
The same question kept coming back — what if she doesn't want me there?
"Boss!"
The voice cut right through it.
A guy with his hair sticking up in every direction came jogging over, eyes bouncing between me and Wyatt.
"Boss, you leave for one night and come back with a girl? The women in this town are gonna be devastated."
Wyatt's foot connected with his shin before he finished the sentence.
"She's here to find someone."
The guy twisted out of the way just fast enough, grinning like it didn't count.
"Okay, okay — I was actually coming to tell you, after a heroic amount of effort, she's finally gone."
Wyatt raised an eyebrow. "Good."
The guy turned to me with a grin.
"Hi, I'm Tyler, twenty-one, single—"
Wyatt's second kick landed. Tyler yelped and fell back, and Wyatt was already walking, one hand loosely steering me toward the shop at the end of the block.
He hit the buzzer without slowing down. The nerves Tyler had scattered came rushing back all at once.
"Not open!" A voice came from upstairs.
Then Wyatt spoke in a softness I never would have expected from him.
"Dorothy, it's me. I'm back."
I glanced at him sideways.
A pause.
"Oh, Wyatt! Hold on, hold on—"
The light on the ground floor clicked on. Footsteps on stairs. The door opened and a woman in a robe stepped out, squinting at us in the light.
My gaze snagged on the shelf behind her. A photograph, sitting on the highest row — a baby, eyes curved into a crescent smile.
"Wyatt, who's this—"
He pulled me forward from behind, and Dorothy looked at me. Really looked. Her expression shifted in a way that took several seconds to finish moving.
"She... she looks just like my Katy."
Something behind my sternum cracked open.
I pulled out my phone. The screen was already typed.
I'm Katherine's daughter. My name is Stella.
She stared at the screen. Her lips started to shake.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, read it again, and then she was crying.
Her hands found my wrist and pulled me in.
"Katy's daughter?" Her voice broke apart. "My Katy — where is she, why didn't she come back with you—"
I typed everything out. One word at a time.
Everything about what happened after Mom left Pine Hollow, about her death, about me coming here alone.
All of it, except the parts I couldn't say. I pushed the phone toward her.
Dorothy read it. Then she held me, and I let her, and my chest burned in a way I didn't know what to do with.
She pulled me inside, sat me down at the table by the window, and went to the back.
She came out with three mugs of hot cocoa. Wyatt took one and leaned against the doorframe without sitting down.
Her cup knocked against the table when she set it down. Her hand was shaking.
"I was too cruel back then." She closed her eyes, tears sliding down from the corners.
"I should never have let her walk out like that. I should've gone after her. Why didn't I go after her."
I watched her shoulders drop and thought about the last thing Mom said. I'm sorry.
I had always assumed those words were for me. Sitting here now, I wasn't so sure they were only for me.
I reached out and put my hand over hers. Her knuckles were rough, the joints a little swollen. She looked up and touched my hair.
"Stellie." Her voice caught. "You're staying here. Wherever I am — that's your home now."
Nobody had ever shortened my name like that before.
I held still for a second. Then I lowered my head and nodded, hard.
She took me upstairs and pushed open a door.
The bed was made up clean, pale yellow curtains drawn, a small lamp on the nightstand throwing a warm circle of light.
I stood in the doorway and looked at the desk — a photo of a younger Dorothy standing next to a little girl with a ponytail, grinning wide enough to show all her teeth.
Faded stickers on the wardrobe door, corners peeling, the kind a kid puts up and never takes down.
"This was your mother's room." Dorothy's voice had gone quiet. "I kept it."
"Get some rest, Stellie. You look worn out."
I nodded. She let go of my arm and left.
I walked in slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. The room was clean and small and still.
I stayed there for a while before I got up and went toward the bathroom — and then stopped cold in the doorway.
I looked down at myself. One dead phone. One phone that still belonged to Wyatt. Nothing else.
I stood there, not moving.
Footsteps in the hall.
Two soft knocks. "Stellie?"
I opened the door. Dorothy pressed a folded stack of clothes into my arms before I could react.
"Wyatt had Tyler borrow these from Tyler's sister. He says they're clean." She patted my arm. "Use them for now. I'll take you shopping tomorrow."
I stood there, the stack of borrowed clothes heavy in my arms.
Wyatt.
He'd thought of that?
"Get some sleep." She patted my arm again. "Tomorrow I'll make you something good."
I nodded fast this time.
After forcing myself through a shower, I changed into the clothes I'd borrowed and sat on the bed, running my fingers through my hair until it dried.
The room was quiet.
Outside, I could hear only a few insects.
I turned off the lamp and went to the window. I pulled the curtain back an inch with two fingers and looked out.
Pine Hollow at night was dark. The streetlights were old — warm yellow, didn't reach far.
Most of the storefronts had gone black. One was still lit up, directly across from the bakery.
A worn wooden sign hung above the door. The light hit it just right.
The Last Pine.
I looked at it for a few seconds, then let my gaze travel up the building.
Second floor. French doors open. A few plants on the balcony railing.
Then I saw him.
Wyatt had changed into dark sweatpants and nothing else.
He came out with a metal watering can, cigarette in his mouth, and started working through the plants one by one. Water catching the light as it poured.
His shoulders were broad, his movements unhurried.
I didn't move.
He finished the second pot and reached sideways for the third, and then he looked up.
Across a full street. Across two windows.
I'd spent years learning to go still — breathing down to nothing, presence down to zero.
It was one of the first things they'd drilled into us at the school. I could do it without thinking.
A human shouldn't have been able to clock me in this light.
We looked at each other for about two seconds.
Then he said something. Quiet, almost to himself — the kind of thing that wasn't meant to carry.
But my ears caught every word.
"Enjoying the view?"
