Her eyes, still vibrant but now softened with the passage of time, are lined with mascara that’s slightly smudged, a hint of vulnerability in her carefully crafted appearance.
Madeline’s skin, while showing the faintest signs of age, bears a testimony to a life fully lived. There are sunspots, those tiny imperfections scattered like constellations on her face, each a reminder of days spent beneath the sun’s warm embrace while I was busy drowning in the darkness.
I grit my teeth and breathe through the pain slowly. My fingers trace the pressure point cuff on my right wrist, and I let it ground me but force out the reminder of who it’s from before it can cripple me all over.
The overall impression she gives is one of grace and poise, a woman who’s lived a hard but full life. Who’scommandedlife. I want to hate her for it. Her lips tighten like she’s trying to keep her secrets tucked away from me, and it only serves to piss me off.
For a moment, just one moment, I felt happiness to have her back. Joy and vulnerability at being in her presence. But now that anger is slowly taking over, mingling with frustration and devastation, I find myself looking at her differently. Noticing things I hadn’t noticed before.
Her lips are similar to mine, though not as thick. Her mouth isn’t as wide as mine. Her cheekbones differ slightly, more narrow than my own rounded face, devoid of freckles. Her eyes are bright green, resembling rolling hills, familiar yet distant. They look similar to mine, but not. Mine are blue-green, like seafoam and the sky.
I wonder if my father’s eyes were blue, and the thought sends me sharply into a memory.
“Where is my daddy?” I ask, sniffling hard as I curl into Mama’s lap.
She sighs and runs her fingers through my hair. “He’s gone.”
“But–” I start, blinking up at her. She makes a clicking sound and shakes her head.
“Wipe away your tears, my sweet Skye. No more of that. He’s gone, but your family is here. We love you. Don’t worry about what you don’t have. Love what’s right in front of you with your whole heart.”
My mother’s smile flickers as if she senses where my thoughts have gone.
She rises from her chair gracefully, like a queen commanding her subjects. Raising her hand, she gestures to a chair opposite her desk and says coolly, “I think we need to talk.”
I bite my cheek, my heart hammering, and barely swallow down the words,no shit, Sherlock.
Daniel takes a hesitant step forward, his eyes locked onto mine with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. “I don’t think this is a good—” He starts, his voice filled with a trembling reluctance, but before he can finish, Madeline cuts him off with a hiss of impatience.
“It’s time, Daniel,” she insists, her voice laced with a raw urgency that sends shivers down my spine.
She inhales deeply, her chest rising and falling with the weight of what’s about to transpire. I watch them, my fingers digging into my thighs, feeling the tension build in the room like a gathering storm.
“We cannot keep putting this off,” she continues, her tone unwavering, her eyes shimmering with something I can’t understand. Daniel’s jaw tightens, and his gaze narrows on her before he reluctantly retreats, seeking solace in the comforting presence of Evelyn, his nod barely perceptible.
The room grows thick with unspoken emotions, and I find myself on the verge of dizziness, the weight of what’s about to happen threatening to consume me. I swallow hard, my gazenever leaving Madeline, who now looks at me with an expectant intensity.
With a slow and deliberate movement, I rise to my feet, the long black gown that Nyx had lovingly chosen for me cascading to my bare feet. My toes sink into the plush, white rug beneath me as I take unsteady steps toward my mother’s desk. Every inch of my body aches, but it’s the pain deep within my chest that threatens to shatter me.
This moment, one I’ve both dreaded and yearned for, is finally here, and the emotions that dredge up are almost unbearable.
But it’s the ache forthemthat keeps me moving.
I release my dress, and my fingers instinctively find their way to the armrests of the chair. As I lower myself into its comforting cushion, a profound emptiness engulfs me, and it’s not just the physical sensation of the chair beneath me. It’s the gaping hole in my heart, the missing pieces of my soul that will never be restored.
Nyx.
Gage.
Maddox.
Stone.
I bite my lip until I taste blood as his name ghosts through my mind like a whisper.
Hunter.
Each breath I take feels like an effort, each heartbeat a reminder of the void left by years of unanswered questions, confusion, and the relentless devastation of not knowing who I truly am, combined with the loss of my new family—my future.
