Chapter 47: The Ghost at the Camp Gate

(Trish's POV)

When the afternoon sun had settled into a warm gold, stretching long shadows across the gravel paths of Mthland Camp, Joseph and I walked along the edge of the grounds, our fingers intertwined, taking our time. Out here, we weren’t the “Warrior Queens” or the “Football Kings.” We were just two eighteen-year-olds sharing a quiet moment that felt rare and almost unreal.

"You know," Joseph said, swinging our joined hands lightly. "I could get used to this. No one screaming about laundry, no Christian making out with the scenery, no mud pits. Just... quiet."

"Don't get too comfortable, Roland," I teased, leaning my head against his shoulder. "In six days, we’re back to the real world. I have a feeling the 'quiet' won't last past the city limits."

"Maybe," he murmured, stopping as we reached the towering iron gates that marked the boundary between the camp and the winding mountain road. "But for now, I’m okay with just this."

We stood there for a second, looking out at the road that led back to our lives, back to the hospital, and back to the house that was currently a question mark.

Joseph reached out to pull me closer, his eyes softening in a way that always made my heart skip. But before his lips could touch mine, the sound of a gravel-crunching engine broke the silence.

A lone taxi, covered in the dust of the mountain pass, rattled to a halt just outside the gate.

"Who’s coming to camp this late?" I whispered, a prickle of unease crawling up my spine.

The door creaked open, and a figure emerged. She moved slowly, her movements stiff and calculated. She was wearing a thick, oversized cardigan and holding a small, worn suitcase. When she looked up, her face was framed by hair that had gone thinner and whiter than I remembered, but her eyes, those sharp, soulful eyes were unmistakable.

Joseph’s hand dropped from my waist. The color drained from his face so fast it was like a curtain falling.

"Mom?"

The word was a broken whisper.

It was Miss Britney. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be in a sterilized room in Mthland General, tethered to machines and monitored by nurses who spoke in hushed tones. Yet, here she was, standing on trembling legs at the edge of the wilderness.

"Joseph. Trish," she rasped, her voice sounding like dry leaves skittering across pavement.

"Ma, what are you doing?" Joseph scrambled toward the gate, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the latch. "How are you even standing? The doctors said—"

"The doctors say a lot of things when the insurance stops talking back, Joseph," she interrupted, a ghost of her old, fiery spirit flickering in her gaze. She leaned heavily against the iron bars as Joseph swung them open, pulling her into a desperate, terrified hug. Over his shoulder, she looked at me, her eyes filling with a mixture of pride and devastating sorrow.

I stood frozen. I thought about the vow I’d made to her, the billboards I’d imagined in the treehouse, and the wealth I promised to bring home. But seeing her now, small, fragile, and standing at a gate because she had nowhere else to go the reality of our situation hit me like a physical blow.

"I didn't want to ruin your week," she whispered, her hand reaching out to touch my cheek. "But the bank didn't want to wait for you to graduate. I had to come. I had to see you both... before the house isn't ours anymore."

The quiet between us ended the second the gates opened. Miss Britney wasn’t the only thing waiting on the other side. So was the truth about what we were losing.

Miss Britney stepped closer, her eyes moving carefully between Joseph and me like she was checking for cracks she couldn’t afford to miss.

“Are you both okay?” she asked softly. Not the sharp, controlled tone she used in boardrooms. This was different. This was just her.

Joseph nodded first, too quickly. “We’re fine.”

I didn’t answer.

Her gaze settled on me. “Trish?”

She stepped forward then, her hand lifting to cup my cheek gently. Her skin felt paper-thin, but her touch was as grounding as it had been the day she took me in.

“The bank didn’t want to wait for you to graduate. I had to come. I had to see you both… before the house isn’t ours anymore.” Miss Britney said with distress

The words landed quietly. No explosion. No drama. Just truth.

Joseph stiffened, his shoulders squaring as if he were bracing for a hit on the field. “What do you mean the house isn’t ours?”

Miss Britney inhaled slowly, like she’d rehearsed this alone a hundred times in that hospital bed.

“I found the final notice in the mail last month,” she admitted. “I tried to renegotiate. I tried extensions. But I’ve run out of time.” She looked down at her hands, the ones that had held our world together for so long. “There are documents in my office. The foreclosure papers. I didn’t want you to see them.”

I felt something twist in my chest, a sharp, jagged pain. “You should’ve told us.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked slightly, a sound that hurt more than any of her old scoldings. “I thought I could fix it before you ever had to know. I’ve always told you everything would be alright. I wanted that to stay true. A mother’s pride is a stubborn thing, Trish.”

Joseph ran a hand over his face, his breathing shallow. “How long?”

“Two months,” she said quietly. “Just after your graduation.”

Two months. It sounded both close and impossibly far. It was enough time to walk across a stage, but not enough time to find a miracle.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path through the dust on her cheek. “I should’ve trusted you enough to share the weight. I just didn't… Ugh! Joseph, Trish, I didn’t want your final year to be about this. I wanted you to be kids for just a few more weeks.”

Silence stretched between us again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was shared. The secret was out, and though it was terrifying, the air felt easier to breathe now that we weren't all pretending. Joseph stepped forward first, his massive frame shielding her from the wind. I followed, leaning into her other side.

And then the three of us were standing there, arms wrapped around each other in the middle of the driveway, holding on like the ground might shift beneath us.

The smell of hospital soap still clung to her, but beneath it was the familiar scent of home. Miss Britney held us tighter than she ever had before, her small hands gripping the backs of our shirts.

“You two focus on your final exams,” she murmured into our hair, her voice regaining a sliver of that old, unbreakable iron. “That’s all I want right now. Graduate strong. Do it for yourselves, and do it for me. Everything else… we’ll face together. We’re a family, and walls don't make a family. We do.”

"Alright, Mom," Joseph and I answered in unison.