Threads of Truth

A Transgender Coming of Age Romance

From the Harmony Aspirant Universe

Chapter 14: Everything Falls Apart

By Ariel Montine Strickland

How will Rose, Ada, Julian cope with the setbacks plan to resurrect the shop? Has Ginger progressed in her plan to eliminate Harold's toadies on the Denver City Council?

Copyright 2025 by Ariel Montine Strickland.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Sundays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love

The morning light filtered through the hospital room's venetian blinds, casting pale stripes across Rose's face as she lay propped against pillows that seemed to dwarf her diminishing frame. Three days had passed since Harold Pemberton's final victory—the complete closure of both the vintage dress shop and the cat sanctuary pending "comprehensive safety and licensing reviews." The sterile smell of disinfectant couldn't mask the weight of defeat that hung in the air like a shroud.

Julian sat in the uncomfortable visitor's chair, his museum documentation equipment abandoned in favor of a simple notebook where he'd been recording Rose's whispered instructions about business contacts and legal procedures. His academic project felt meaningless now, overshadowed by the reality of watching someone he'd come to love like a grandmother face the destruction of her life's work while battling her own declining health.

"The cats," Rose said, her voice carrying less strength than it had even yesterday. She wore a hospital gown that made her look fragile in a way her vintage dresses never had, her silver hair spread across the pillow without its characteristic elegant styling. "Ada managed to place thirty-seven of them with foster families, but six of the seniors..."

She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence that they all understood. The city shelter had a policy about older, less adoptable animals, and Harold's rushed closure hadn't allowed time for the careful placement that Rose's network usually provided.

Kiki stood at the window, her back to the room, shoulders rigid with a grief that went beyond the sanctuary's closure. She wore jeans and a simple sweater—no vintage clothing, no careful styling, as if she'd retreated from the identity Rose had helped her discover. Her reflection in the glass showed hollow eyes and the kind of exhaustion that comes from watching everything you've built crumble in a matter of days.

"It's my fault," Kiki said quietly, her voice barely audible. "If I hadn't pushed so hard for the renovations, if I'd been more careful about the fire codes, if I'd listened to Harold's concerns earlier—"

"Stop," Rose interrupted with more force than her weakened state should have allowed. "Harold didn't want compliance—he wanted destruction. Margaret didn't want professional standards—she wanted control. You fought for something beautiful and necessary, and that's never wrong."

Julian watched the exchange with a heart that felt like it was breaking in slow motion. The woman who had taught him about preservation and community was facing the loss of everything she'd preserved, while the person he'd fallen in love with was drowning in self-blame and the weight of impossible responsibility.

Ada appeared in the doorway, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, her face showing the strain of three sleepless days spent coordinating emergency placements and legal consultations. She carried a folder thick with documents—insurance papers, legal notices, and the kind of bureaucratic correspondence that accompanies institutional failure.

"The insurance company is denying our claim," Ada announced without preamble, settling into the second visitor's chair with obvious exhaustion. "They're saying the fire code violations constitute negligence, which voids our coverage for the renovation costs."

Rose closed her eyes, absorbing this latest blow with the resignation of someone who had fought as hard as possible and finally reached the limits of what determination could accomplish. "How much?"

"Forty-three thousand dollars," Ada replied grimly. "Plus the legal fees for fighting Harold's complaints, plus the cost of the temporary cat housing, plus the business income we're losing every day the shop stays closed."

Julian felt his protective instincts flare, but also the helpless frustration of someone whose academic skills and museum connections meant nothing in the face of financial catastrophe. "What about the community support? The people who came to the city council meeting?"

Ada's expression grew more somber. "Harold's been busy. He's convinced several council members that supporting us would set a dangerous precedent for regulatory enforcement. Margaret's been telling anyone who'll listen that we're amateur operations masquerading as professional services."

Kiki turned from the window, her face showing the kind of defeat that Julian had never seen in her before. "Maybe they're right. Maybe I was pretending to be something I'm not—a business owner, a restoration expert, someone capable of carrying on Rose's work."

Rose struggled to sit up straighter, her eyes flashing with the fierce protectiveness that had defined her mentorship. "Kiki Morrison, you listen to me. I've been in this business for fifty years, and I've never met anyone with your natural understanding of these garments and the stories they tell. Harold and Margaret are attacking your confidence because they can't attack your competence."

Julian felt his heart clench at Rose's use of Kiki's chosen surname—a detail he hadn't heard before, but which spoke to the depth of the bond between mentor and protégé. "Rose is right. Your restoration work, your advocacy for the sanctuary, your ability to connect with customers—none of that was pretense."

But Kiki's expression remained closed, as if she'd retreated behind walls that their reassurance couldn't penetrate. "It doesn't matter now. The shop is closed, the sanctuary is gone, and Rose is..." She couldn't finish the sentence, but the unspoken reality hung in the air between them.

Rose reached for the folder Ada had brought, her hands trembling slightly as she opened it to reveal legal documents that Julian recognized as transfer papers. "Which is why we need to complete what we started. Kiki, these are the ownership transfer documents for the shop. My attorney has been preparing them for weeks."

Kiki's face went pale. "Rose, no. I can't take responsibility for a failed business and a mountain of debt."

"You're not taking responsibility for failure," Rose said firmly. "You're accepting the foundation for rebuilding. The shop has been my life's work, but it was never meant to end with me. I've been preparing you to carry it forward."

Julian watched the exchange with growing understanding of Rose's long-term strategy. Even facing defeat, she was thinking about legacy and continuity, about preserving what could be saved from the wreckage of Harold's campaign.

Ada pulled out additional documents. "Rose has also been working with her attorney to establish a trust fund for the sanctuary's eventual reopening. It's not enough to restart immediately, but it's seed money for when the regulatory climate improves."

Rose nodded weakly. "Harold won this battle, but battles aren't wars. Communities like ours have been caring for the vulnerable for generations, and we'll find ways to continue that work."

Kiki moved to Rose's bedside, taking her mentor's hand with obvious tenderness. "What if I'm not strong enough? What if I can't rebuild what you've created?"

Rose's smile was gentle but determined. "Strength isn't about never falling down, dear one. It's about getting back up every time you do. You've already shown more courage than most people manage in a lifetime."

Julian felt the weight of the moment settling around them—the passing of responsibility from one generation to the next, the acknowledgment that some fights are lost so that others can be won, the recognition that love sometimes means accepting burdens you don't feel ready to carry.

"There's something else," Rose said, her voice growing quieter. "The doctors want to discuss treatment options that would require me to step back from active business management. The stress of the past weeks has accelerated some health issues that can't be ignored anymore."

The admission hung in the air like a physical presence, forcing all of them to confront what they'd been trying to avoid acknowledging. Rose's declining health wasn't just about fatigue and stress—it was about fundamental changes that would reshape everything they'd built together.

Ada reached over and squeezed Rose's other hand. "We'll handle whatever needs handling. The important thing is getting you the care you need."

Julian felt his throat tighten with emotion as he watched the woman who had become his mentor and inspiration facing the intersection of professional defeat and personal health challenges. "What can we do to help?"

Rose looked at each of them in turn, her expression mixing gratitude with the kind of love that transcends professional relationships. "You can promise me that this isn't the end of the story. Harold thinks he's destroyed something precious, but he's only forced us to find new ways to preserve what matters."

Kiki's eyes filled with tears she'd been holding back for days. "I promise, Rose. I don't know how yet, but I promise."

Julian nodded, feeling the weight of commitment settling on his shoulders. "We all promise."

As the afternoon light began to fade through the hospital room's windows, Julian realized that this moment—painful as it was—represented not just an ending, but a transformation. Rose's legacy wouldn't be preserved through maintaining the status quo, but through adapting her principles to new circumstances and challenges.

The vintage dress shop might be closed, the sanctuary might be shuttered, and Rose's health might be declining, but the community of people who understood the value of caring for the vulnerable remained intact. Harold had won the battle for regulatory compliance, but he hadn't destroyed the relationships and commitments that made Rose's work meaningful.

Outside the hospital windows, Denver continued its daily rhythm, unaware that in one small room, the foundation was being laid for something that would eventually prove stronger and more resilient than what Harold's campaign had destroyed. The threads of their story were being rewoven, not around buildings and business licenses, but around the unbreakable bonds of love, mentorship, and shared commitment to protecting those who couldn't protect themselves.

Rose closed her eyes, exhausted by the day's conversations but peaceful in the knowledge that her legacy was in capable hands. Tomorrow would bring new challenges and difficult decisions, but tonight, the hospital room held space for grief, love, and the quiet confidence that comes from knowing that some things are too important to be destroyed by bureaucratic opposition.

The black moment had arrived, but it had also revealed the true strength of what they'd built together—not in buildings or permits, but in hearts and commitments that would survive whatever challenges lay ahead. Kiki left Rose with a wordless hug and then started home.

Kiki came home with, what seemed to her, the weight of the world. Yet upon entering the living room a completely different story emerged with a great big hug from her mother even before she took on the room. A banner on the far wall read, "Abolish Corruption Party HQ". Along the edges of the room leaning up were yard signs for each of the new party's city council candidates including her mother's because she was running in opposition to Carl Harper in District 2. The other signs announced the party's candidates in districts 4,5,6,9,10 &11.

On the dining room table were stacks of printouts from VoteBuilder: The democratic voter database along with door knocker literature to go to all the democratic voters in each precinct. That was all ready for each precinct worker who would go door to door. Mom's sewing room had become dominated by a conference table where volunteers would be calling on the phone tree. About the only unchanged place in the home was her bedroom.

"Kiki, it pains me to see you so down. What's wrong?"

"We are at our lowest at the dress shop and Rose wants to turn everything over to me in the middle of this huge, black time. I don't know what to do?" Kiki slumped over her mother's shoulder and began to cry.

Her mother comforted, "Hold on my child, Joy comes in the morning. The darkest hour means dawn is just in sight."

"Oh Mom, I don't recognize this place, what have you done?"

"We've got Harold's toadies on the run! All of his council people are being recalled and every one of them have a well-financed grass root candidate running against them. We have national support from progressive democrats who don't like Harold's corruption and are ready to make an example of Denver for the entire country."

"What can I do, Mother?"

"I'm glad you asked. We've got the phone bank volunteers coming in an hour. I need your help with finishing the refreshments we'll serve them this evening."

"Of course, Mother" Kiki and her mother went into the kitchen and continued the preparations that were already started..

"How does the phone bank work, Mother?"

"All we need is cell phones with the Vote Builder App installed. It keeps track of everyone in our group and who they have already called along with the results. Each person on the phone bank uses the app to automatically dial the next person who needs a call and uses the app to record the call results before it starts the next call ."

"That's really radical Mother. And the door to door canvasing, does VoteBuilder help with that too?"

"Yes, each person gets directed exactly where to go and then they record the results on the app. I can get reports on anything that was done through the app."

"Mother all of the refreshments are ready!"

The doorbell rang as the first of the phone bank volunteers arrived. "Just in time, Kiki. Please let our guests in."

As Kiki opened the door, a small group of volunteers filed in, their faces animated with purpose and determination. Her mother immediately took charge, introductions flowing seamlessly as she guided everyone to their stations with practiced efficiency.Threads-of-Truth-outline.txt

"Everyone, this is my daughter Kiki," Ginger announced warmly, her arm still around Kiki's shoulders. "She's been learning about advocacy through her work at the vintage dress shop and cat sanctuary that Harold's been targeting."

The volunteers welcomed Kiki with genuine warmth, several mentioning they'd heard about the sanctuary's closure and the shop's troubles. Their solidarity felt like a lifeline in her ocean of despair.

As they settled around the conference table in what used to be her mother's sewing room, Kiki watched the VoteBuilder app in action. The efficiency was remarkable—each volunteer's phone automatically dialed the next number, recorded responses, and moved seamlessly to the next call. The room filled with conversations about city council races, voter registration, and Harold Pemberton's accountability.

"How many candidates are running against Harold's people?" Kiki asked during a brief lull.

"All six of his council allies have strong opponents," her mother replied, her eyes bright with strategic satisfaction. "Districts 2, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, and 11—we've got grassroots candidates in every race. Harold thought he could run this city like his personal kingdom, but Denver voters are ready for change."

Listening to the phone bank volunteers, Kiki began to understand something Rose had been trying to teach her—that fighting for vulnerable creatures, whether cats or communities, required the same combination of strategic thinking and unwavering compassion. These volunteers weren't just making calls; they were weaving a network of resistance, much like Rose had woven her network of support around Kiki's journey.

"Mom," Kiki said quietly as they refilled water glasses for the volunteers, "I'm starting to see what Rose meant about advocacy requiring gentle strength."

Ginger smiled, squeezing her daughter's hand. "Rose is a wise woman, honey. She knows that change happens one conversation at a time, one restored dress at a time, one rescued cat at a time. Tonight, it's one phone call at a time.

As the evening progressed, Kiki found herself naturally drawn into the work, her despair gradually replaced by something she hadn't expected, hope. The weight of the world she'd carried home began to feel less crushing and more like the weight of responsibility, the kind Rose had been preparing her to carry.

When the last volunteer left near midnight, the kitchen table was covered with completed call sheets and tomorrow's door-knocking assignments. Her mother's transformation of their home into campaign headquarters no longer felt overwhelming—it felt like preparation for battle, the kind Rose had taught her was sometimes necessary to protect what mattered most.

"Joy comes in the morning," Kiki repeated her mother's earlier words, and for the first time that day, she almost believed them.