Chap­ter 12 opens with Jane entrenched in her role on the Neigh­bor­hood Beau­ti­fi­ca­tion Com­mit­tee, a posi­tion that has unex­pect­ed­ly come with a finan­cial bur­den she wasn’t quite ready for. At Emily’s casu­al sug­ges­tion, Jane spends over a thou­sand dol­lars on sleek solar path lights meant to enhance the com­mon spaces in Thorn­field Estates. Though she agrees with­out hes­i­ta­tion, part­ly eager to fit in and part­ly unsure how to decline, the weight of the cost set­tles on her heavily—not just as a dent in her wal­let, but as a sym­bol­ic invest­ment in belong­ing.

As Jane hauls box­es of the lights from her car and unpacks them alone, the glam­our of the pur­chase fades quick­ly. What was pitched as a com­mu­ni­ty effort becomes a solo task, reveal­ing how roles in this neigh­bor­hood are often assigned beneath smiles. For some­one who once count­ed every dol­lar for bus fare, this kind of spend­ing feels alien, and it reminds her how far she’s come—but also how out of place she still feels.

Even the house she lives in—Eddie’s house—remains full of Bea’s care­ful­ly cho­sen fur­ni­ture, her books, and the scent of a flo­ral can­dle that nev­er seems to fade. Jane walks through the rooms some­times feel­ing like she’s just bor­row­ing some­one else’s life. Though she now wears nicer clothes and shops at bou­tiques instead of dis­count racks, she can’t shake the feel­ing that every­thing could be tak­en from her just as eas­i­ly as it was giv­en.

That unease only deep­ens when, dur­ing one of her solo instal­la­tion trips to the park entrance, she sees John. His pres­ence drags the air out of the moment. Dressed in his usu­al way—slightly unkempt, with a smirk that nev­er quite reach­es his eyes—John is a link to a ver­sion of Jane she’s worked hard to bury.

He calls her by name, too eas­i­ly, as though he’s been watch­ing her for longer than she real­izes. At first, their con­ver­sa­tion is guard­ed, the way it always is with peo­ple who share uncom­fort­able mem­o­ries. But then he says something—something offhand­ed about a call he got from some­one in Phoenix ask­ing about a woman named Helen Burns—and sud­den­ly Jane’s whole body tight­ens.

The name hits her like a punch, bring­ing with it a wave of dread so intense she can bare­ly breathe. She forces a laugh, brush­es it off, but inside, pan­ic spins. Helen Burns isn’t just a name from her past—it’s a thread that could unrav­el every­thing she’s built.

John doesn’t press. He’s cagey and sar­cas­tic, but he doesn’t linger. Still, the impli­ca­tion is clear: if some­one from Phoenix is look­ing, her secrets aren’t safe. The veneer she’s con­struct­ed in Thornfield—complete with yoga mats, arti­san can­dles, and solar lights—is far thin­ner than she wants to admit.

After the encounter, Jane’s nerves are frayed. She bare­ly sleeps, her mind replay­ing every word, every expres­sion on John’s face. She won­ders if he’ll show up again. Won­ders if he was bluff­ing about the phone call or if some­one real­ly is out there, dredg­ing up the ver­sion of her that doesn’t wear linen blous­es or attend com­mit­tee meet­ings.

The next morn­ing, Eddie notices her jumpi­ness and asks if she’s okay. Jane lies smooth­ly, says she didn’t sleep well, that it’s just stress from the project. He believes her—at least for now.

The truth is, Jane knows how quick­ly com­fort can slip into chaos. The lights may illu­mi­nate the neigh­bor­hood walk­ways, but they can’t pro­tect her from shad­ows that stretch far­ther than she can see. Even as she smiles through the next com­mit­tee update, sip­ping wine and dis­cussing tulip bulbs, her mind is else­where.

Her new life isn’t as secure as it looks, and the past has a way of find­ing the cracks in even the most care­ful­ly con­struct­ed facade. In Thorn­field Estates, appear­ances matter—but secrets mat­ter more. And Jane has too many of them.