Chapter 524 The Bench

Gail’s POV

I read Katia’s statement three times before leaving the house. It was short and clear. She hadn’t mentioned Tessa by name or explained the photograph. She had simply said that I told the truth as I understood it and that the rest would be handled elsewhere. I sat in my car with the radio switched off, reading the statement on my phone while waiting at a red light. Part of me felt protected, while another part felt as though I had been left standing in the open with nobody beside me. When the light changed, I put my phone down and continued driving.

Grandma was already in the garden when I arrived at the estate. She had placed two cups on the small table beside the stone bench near the fountain. She didn’t seem surprised to see me. I parked my car and walked across the grass, feeling the cool morning air against my skin. She poured me some tea without asking if I wanted any.

“Sit,” she instructed.

I sat beside her, holding the warm cup between my hands without taking a sip.

“You saw what she posted,” Grandma said.

“I did,” I confirmed.

“And?” she prompted.

“It was kind,” I admitted, looking at the water in the fountain. “But it wasn’t enough. People are still saying I lied. Some of them are saying it even louder now that she hasn’t denied the rest of it.”

Grandma nodded. “She did what she could without making it worse.”

“I know.” I placed my cup on the table. “I’m tired of explaining it. I stood up there because I didn’t want her walking into a room full of cameras while she was pregnant. I thought if I said the words, they would leave her alone. But they didn’t. They just moved the questions onto me instead.”

“You did it because you love her,” Grandma Celeste reminded me. “That is not something you need to keep defending.”

My throat tightened, and I lowered my gaze to my hands. “I keep thinking that if I had stayed quiet, none of this would be happening. She would still have the mask, Tessa would still be chasing a ghost, and I wouldn’t be the one people are calling a liar on the internet.”

“You would still be carrying it,” Grandma replied. “Just quieter. That is not better.”

I let out a short, tearful laugh, but it quickly turned into something else, and I had to press my fingers beneath my eyes. Grandma didn’t reach for me. She simply waited until I could breathe normally again. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and shook my head.

“I’m crying in your garden,” I said. “Again.”

“It is a good garden for it,” she replied.

I picked up my cup again. The tea was still warm, and we sat together in silence for a while. A car passed on the road beyond the hedge, and somewhere inside the house, I heard a door close.

“She called me this morning,” I told her. “Before she posted it. She asked what I wanted her to say.”

“And you told her,” Grandma replied.

“I told her to post it. I said I would be fine.” I turned the cup between my hands. “But I wasn’t fine. I was sitting in my kitchen watching the comments come in, thinking about how many of them still had my name in them. She protected me in the statement, but she also left the door open for everyone else to keep asking why I said it in the first place.”

Grandma placed her cup on the table. “Do you regret standing there?”

“No,” I answered immediately. “I would do it again. That’s the part that makes me angry. I would still walk up to that podium if she asked me tomorrow, and I’m tired of feeling like that makes me weak.”

“It does not,” she assured me.

“It feels like it does when people keep calling me a liar for it,” I admitted.

“They are calling you a liar because they want a cleaner story,” Grandma explained. “You gave them a messy one. That is not your fault.”

I nodded and took a sip of my tea. It had cooled, but I drank it anyway. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I ignored it.

“There was a producer this morning,” I continued. “Left a voicemail. Wanted a follow-up. Said they could do it from my house if I didn’t want to come to the studio.”

“What did you tell them?” she asked.

“I haven’t listened to it yet,” I admitted.

“Then do not,” Grandma advised.

I turned to look at her. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she replied. “You have already said what you needed to say. The rest is noise.”

I thought about the other calls I had received. Two were from numbers I didn’t recognize, while another came from a woman who had interviewed me years ago and now wanted to know if I was willing to go on record about the family. I had deleted her message without even finishing it.

“I’m done answering them,” I declared.

Grandma looked at me, waiting for me to continue.

“The reporters, the producers, and anyone else who wants me to explain what I said at that podium,” I continued. “I’m not doing it again. If they want more, they can ask Katia, or they can wait for whatever her lawyer sends. I’m finished standing in front of cameras for a story that was never only mine.”

“Good,” Grandma Celeste said.

“You think so?” I asked.

“I think you have done enough,” she replied. “The rest is not yours to fix.”

I nodded, and we remained on the bench until the sun climbed higher and the fountain cast a thin line of light across the stone. When I finally stood to leave, Grandma stayed where she was. She didn’t tell me to call if I needed anything or ask what I planned to do next.

She simply watched as I walked back to my car. I drove home with the radio still switched off. My phone buzzed once on the passenger seat, but I didn’t look at it. For the first time since standing at that podium, I no longer felt as though I owed anyone an answer.