Hope Crawls Through Ruins by Kain Rowan Vale 17

Watching Vivian and Shepard together, Briana couldn’t help but think how well–matched they seemed, 

If she had realized this earlier, she wouldn’t have wasted five years of her youth on him. 

Their futures were linked at ten, when their families arranged their engagement. At eighteen, she followed him to Aetherton University. She graduated at twenty–two, married him, and settled into life as a homemaker. By twenty–seven, she had found the strength to walk away for good. 

Briana wasn’t afraid to start over. She simply didn’t think her heart had any love left to give. 

She was just about to turn away and pretend she hadn’t seen them when Vivian halted, rubbing her arms against the chill of the air conditioning. 

Shepard drew Vivian close, a faint frown on his face as he pulled out a shawl and settled it over her shoulders. 

Briana went still, her gaze locked on that shawl. 

“You’re so sweet, Shep,” Vivian cooed, snuggling into the fabric with a charming smile. “I’m perfectly warm 

now.” 

She pitched her voice deliberately higher and softer, smoothing away its usual rough edges. 

Vivian was self–conscious about her voice. It seemed so plain and rough next to the sweet, clear tones other girls had. 

“This shawl is nice,” she said with a sweet smile. “Where did you get it?” 

Shepard hesitated, as if trying to remember. 

She looped her arm through his. “Don’t worry if you don’t recall,” she said gently. “I was just asking.” 

He hesitated with a quiet hum. He remembered perfectly well that the shawl had come from somewhere far more meaningful. 

“I made it.” Briana’s voice came from behind them. 

She walked straight past the mall staff, heading right for Shepard. 

When the staff couldn’t stop her, they quickly motioned to the bodyguards to step in. 

But the bodyguards recognized Briana and stood aside without a word, letting her walk straight through. 

Vivian spun around in surprise. “Briana?” 

“I made that shawl,” Briana repeated, her eyes fixed on the fabric draped over Vivian’s shoulders. 

All those years as his wife, Briana had cared for everything in Shepard’s life, down to the last detail. 

His skin was sensitive, so she learned to knit, creating scarves, shawls, gloves, anything soft enough for him 

to wear. 

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She remembered her first clumsy attempts, every stitch woven with the love she held for him. 

But Shepard never wore them. She would offer her gifts with hopeful pride, only for him to give them little more than a glance. 

Sometimes he wouldn’t even look, just leaving them where they lay or passing them off to a maid. 

It unsettled Briana to see him use it after their divorce. The fact that he was giving it to Vivian felt even 

worse. 

Vivian glanced at the shawl, then up at Shepard, her tone uncertain. “Is it true?” 

Shepard didn’t answer. And that, in itself, was answer enough. 

“Now you know,” Briana said evenly. “Must feel awkward to wear. You should throw it away.” 

Vivian ran her fingers over the fine cashmere. It was light and delicately made, just right for a cool afternoon. 

“I never knew you were so crafty,” Vivian said with a light smile. “Maybe I’ll learn to knit, too, so Shep and I could have matching ones.” 

She then looked toward Shepard. “Don’t you think that’d be nice?” 

“No need,” he said simply. 

Her expression softened in disappointment. “Why?” 

His voice was cool. “Handmade things aren’t worth anything. It’s a waste of time.” 

Vivian’s smile returned, softer now. “So you were thinking of me, Shep.” 

“You don’t have to try so hard to please me,” he replied. 

The unspoken comparison was clear. Briana had once tried just as hard, and it had meant nothing to him. 

Briana felt a chill, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the mall’s frigid air conditioning or from what she was seeing. 

She had no desire to linger and watch her ex and his new companion play out their romance. 

“Ms. Fletcher,” Briana said, her voice polite but firm, “this mall has plenty to choose from. If you’re cold, buy another shawl. But that one… Please take it off and throw it away.” 

It was a sharp, visual sting to see something she had knit with her own hands wrapped around Vivian. 

But instead of complying, Vivian only shook her head. 

“It’s still a lovely piece. Why would I throw it away?” Vivian said, her hand resting on the shawl. “I really like it, especially after knowing you made it yourself.” 

“Don’t play these games, Vivian,” Briana said, her voice low and edged. “We both know what this is.” 

“You’re misunderstanding me,” Vivian replied, sounding genuine. “It’s something you put time and care 

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into. It feels wrong to just toss it…” 

“Are you throwing it away or not?” Briana cut in, her patience gone. 

Before Vivian could say another word, Briana reached out, tired of the back and forth. 

Watching Vivian play the sweet, fragile type only fueled Briana’s frustration. 

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But before Briana could touch Vivian, Shepard grabbed her wrist, his grip firm and unyielding. 

“Briana,” he said sharply. “What are you doing?” 

“You heard every word,” Briana shot back. “No need to pretend otherwise.” 

Shepard’s face hardened. “Keep your hands off her.” 

“I’m only reclaiming what’s mine,” Briana insisted. 

“Yours?” Shepard let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “What of mine could possibly be yours?” 

Briana tried to pull her hand away, but he held on even tighter. 

The truth was, Shepard had wanted to get rid of the shawl the moment he realized it was Briana’s. 

But now that she’d spoken first, he felt a stubborn urge to do the exact opposite. If she wanted it gone, he’d make sure it stayed. 

It grated on him that he couldn’t control her. The only time she’d ever bested him was over their child, and he’d sworn never to let it happen again. 

Briana laughed, the sound edged with bitterness. “I should have cleaned out my things when I walked out.” 

“There’s nothing in my house that belongs to you, Briana,” he said sharply, a chill light flickering in his 

eyes. 

Shepard and Briana faced each other, silent but unmoving. 

Vivian moved between them and gently pulled Shepard back a step. 

“Let it go, Shep,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ll give it back. It’s hers to do with as she likes.” 

She slid the shawl from her shoulders, folded it, and held it out to Briana. 

Vivian’s graceful calm only made Briana’s anger seem more unreasonable. 

As Vivian held out the shawl, her nails caught and dragged across the delicate knit, back and forth. It was a small, deliberate act that only Briana seemed to notice. 

The fine cashmere couldn’t take it. It began to pill and snag under Vivian’s touch. 

Briana never meant to keep it. She took the shawl only to throw it straight into the trash. 

But Vivian’s little act crossed a line. 

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Vivian was the kind who spoke kindly to people’s faces but would gladly do them harm the moment they turned away. 

Angered, Briana reached over and snatched the shawl back. 

Yet Vivian held on tight. 

Briana gave a sharp tug, but the shawl didn’t budge in Vivian’s grip. It was clear Vivian wasn’t planning to let go. 

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