Chapter XVII – Dawn O’Hara, The Girl Who Laughed Trashed opens with a quiet triumph quickly shadowed by doubt. Dawn has just sent her completed manuscript to the publisher, a culmination of effort and late nights. Yet instead of relief, she feels exposed, replaying every word, certain she could have made it better. Only a few people even knew of her book, making her vulnerable in a strangely private way. Blackie, ever her confidant, teases her gently, their banter a soft reprieve from the self-criticism that always follows creative effort. Their conversation drifts to his plans for a well-earned vacation, but something in his tone feels off. Dawn notices his quietness, a pause too long, a sentence that falters.

Later, an unexpected call from Von Gerhard breaks the moment, pulling Dawn toward a different kind of conversation. He proposes a supper outing, hinting there’s something important to share. The following day’s weather is strangely hot, the kind that makes every breath feel heavier. As she dresses for their drive, Dawn senses a shift—something in the air, in his voice, in herself. Their journey to the lake is beautiful, marked by blooming trees and laughter from nearby families. But the calm of the scene doesn’t settle her nerves. A storm brews beneath the surface, though the sky remains clear. When they finally sit beneath the trees, away from the noisy crowd, Dawn braces herself.

Von Gerhard, always measured and composed, looks at her with a seriousness she hasn’t seen before. He reveals that Peter Orme, once locked away by madness, is now declared sane—and gone. Released. No longer watched. The words land with weight. Dawn, who had built her life on the quiet safety his absence gave, now sees her world begin to unspool. Her thoughts scatter. Peter’s return isn’t just a possibility; it’s a storm approaching with no forecast. The man she had once loved, suffered for, and feared, might step back into her life without warning. Von Gerhard says he’ll stay—postponing his departure to Vienna to support her—but even that reassurance can’t calm the dread swelling inside her.

The irony of the setting is sharp. Around them, music floats and couples dance, unaware of the gravity sitting at their table. Dawn forces a smile, but her chest tightens. Freedom had felt within reach. The manuscript. The companionship. The sense of normalcy. Now, all of it feels temporary. The ground beneath her starts to feel borrowed. She tries to imagine how she will face Peter, what words she might say. But nothing comes. Only the memory of his voice and the weight of everything she endured. Her stomach churns as joy drains from the evening.

On the drive home, the silence grows louder. Dawn stares out the window while Von Gerhard navigates the road with quiet focus. Her thoughts twist through fear and confusion. For months, she lived under the belief that Peter’s presence had been safely walled away. Now, the idea of him walking free, searching, remembering—it shatters the fragile peace she had carved out. Von Gerhard glances at her, but says little, respecting the silence as a space she needs. Each mile back feels heavier. The car moves forward, but her mind loops back, trapped in the shadows of what was and what could return.

As she reaches her apartment, the familiar walls no longer feel safe. She knows the days ahead will demand strength she’s not sure she has. Peter’s return is more than a threat to her comfort—it’s a challenge to her identity. Who is she now? The woman who once waited and endured, or someone who built something new from the ashes of that pain? Von Gerhard’s presence offers comfort, but this battle will be hers to face. The chapter ends without clarity, only questions. It captures the way old wounds can reopen when least expected, and how even in moments of beauty, fear can root itself deeply in the heart.