“Libby, no heart!” the children at school would whisper behind her back. They thought she didn’t care about anyone. Maybe they were right—at least, that’s how it looked the day Lily fell.
It happened during the last days of summer, in the wooded hills just beyond their neighborhood. Libby, 12 years old and tall for her age, had always been bold and a little wild. Lily, younger by two years, was quieter—gentle, careful, and always trailing just a step behind Libby.
That day, the two girls went exploring near the old quarry, a place they’d been told to avoid. But Libby liked breaking rules, and Lily didn’t want to be left behind. They followed a narrow dirt trail that twisted through the trees and led to a ridge overlooking sharp gray rocks below.
Libby was angry. She’d overheard Lily telling a secret—one Libby had trusted her to keep. “You told them,” Libby snapped, turning on her heel. “I asked you not to. You said you wouldn’t.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “I—I didn’t mean to. It slipped out—”
“You always ruin everything!” Libby shouted, her face red with frustration.
What happened next was quick and terrible.
Libby shoved Lily.
Not hard—but hard enough.
Lily stumbled, lost her footing, and slipped off the ledge.
There was a horrible crack as she struck the boulder below. Libby’s heart stopped. She stared down at her friend’s small, still body—Lily was crumpled on the rock, unmoving.
For a moment, the forest was silent.
Then Libby screamed.
People came running. It was a miracle Lily was alive. Her arm was broken, her head bleeding, and she was rushed to the hospital. When asked what happened, Libby said Lily slipped. “She was too close to the edge,” she whispered.
But Lily knew the truth. And Libby knew she knew.
When Lily awoke, she didn’t speak right away. Her eyes said more than words. There was fear in them—and heartbreak. She didn’t tell anyone what Libby had done. Not right away.
But the truth has a way of rising.
Eventually, Lily told her parents. They confronted Libby’s family. Libby confessed. She cried, shaking, saying she didn’t mean it. “I was angry… I didn’t know it would go that far…”
Still, the damage had been done.
Lily would heal, but slowly. And she no longer followed Libby anywhere.
Libby, for the first time, saw herself through Lily’s eyes. She realized what it meant to be called “no heart.” It wasn’t about being fearless. It was about not caring until it was too late.
Now, every time Libby passes the old trail near the quarry, she stops. She looks at the rock where Lily fell. And she remembers the moment she let her anger win.
