Chapter 4: The Last Goodbye

Chloe walked out of the hospice pale, mascara streaked down her cheeks, bringing back two pieces of news: after leaving the hospice, Emily had likely gone home, and her condition was beyond hope.

The girls already knew. They found the earliest Amtrak to Emily’s hometown, not even stopping to eat.

The comment section was ruthless:

[Fangirls are too persistent. Isn't it obvious the person died long ago, yet they still don't believe it.]

[Why didn't Emily Rivers announce her death all along? Probably just wanted to grab some heat after her death?]

[Where do the comments get this holier-than-thou attitude of 'I alone am awake'? They've liked Emily Rivers for many years, long treating Emily Rivers as their spiritual pillar. Isn't it normal to not believe she's dead and want to find the truth! They themselves don't think anything of it. What right do you have to comment!]

The girls ignored it, too tired to fight. What was the point, when the person they fought for was gone?

Emily’s hometown—Cedar Falls, Iowa. Small, close-knit, the kind of place where everyone knew your name and your business. Population: 3,847.

They changed trains, then buses, then rode in a cab driven by a guy who’d gone to high school with Emily’s dad. They didn’t care. They just wanted to get there.

Emily’s house was on a quiet street—white clapboard, wraparound porch, squeaky swing. American Gothic normal. Hollywood would never buy that an actress came from here.

Her parents had died in a trucking accident on I-80. Grandma took her in, sixty-three years old and suddenly raising a five-year-old.

Neighbors gossiped, but Grandma just told Emily to study hard, read books—knowledge was power. She gave Emily the best education she could, cleaning houses and saving every penny for lessons and supplies.

When a dance teacher said Emily had talent, Grandma backed her all the way—even driving forty minutes each way for classes. She even had a neighbor install a dance pole in the yard, and kept it polished every day after Emily left, like a ritual.

Chloe and the others claimed to be friends. Grandma brought out snickerdoodles—Emily’s favorite—and set them on the same coffee table Emily had done homework on.

The living room was covered in Emily’s photos—baby pictures, school awards, dance trophies, even a fifth-grade spelling bee certificate. A wall of memories.

The comments couldn’t help but be amazed:

[Everyone used to scold her for pretending to be a top student. Didn't expect it—she really was a top student.]

[Tch, who didn't get a few awards as a kid? This doesn't prove anything!]

[The one in front called NathanBabyFlyForward is Nathan Quinn's fan right? Can you take your brother and get lost? Don't you know what respect for the dead means? Besides, you all keep saying Emily Rivers wronged your brother. What evidence do you have to prove it?]

Chloe shut down the livestream, not wanting Grandma to see the hate.

They chatted with Grandma, never daring to say Emily might be gone. How could they break the heart of an eighty-nine-year-old who’d lost so much?

Just like Emily, who hadn’t dared tell Grandma the truth. She’d come home, watched her through the window watering tomatoes, but hadn’t gone in. If she had, she never would’ve left again.

The girls made their excuses to leave, Grandma offering to cook pot roast—Emily’s favorite. At the door, Grandma hesitated: "Young ladies, do you know where Emily is now? I know she’s busy, but I want to see her. She never tells me when she’s sick, afraid I’ll worry."

They checked Grandma’s old iPhone for messages. The video looked like Emily, but on closer inspection it was fake—deepfaked or stitched together from old clips. Technology still couldn’t hide the uncanny valley.

But what broke them wasn’t the video—it was the reason Emily faked it. To spare Grandma. To let her believe Emily was out there, living her dreams.

Some of the girls turned away, crying. Grandma saw, but just stood at the gate, the sunset stretching her shadow long. She waved, just like every time Emily left for LA, for college, for anywhere.

The girls watched her silhouette fade into the porch light, the sky turning indigo behind her. None of them said it, but they all knew—sometimes, the hardest goodbyes are the ones you never get to say out loud.