All these years she’d protected her heart, not letting anyone close enough to hurt her. Then along came Harrison, and she’d been so quick to let down her guard that she hadn’t even seen the end coming.
Charlotte walked into the room to see her great-grandmother, but Amalie was asleep, and so she sat quietly beside her and reached for her hand. She didn’t know why she’d come back to see her again, and she knew there was only a short time before the nurses would ask her to leave for the night, but she hadn’t known where else to go.
‘I think I need your help, Amalie,’ she whispered, thankful when her great-grandmother stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
She made a little noise in her throat, and Charlotte stroked her hand, scared of how paper-thin the skin was, of what old age could do to a person. She clutched her fingers and tried not to cry as she spoke to her, as she asked what she’d come here to say. For there seemed no one else in the world who could understand the pain Charlotte was going through more than Amalie.
‘How did you survive a broken heart?’
Amalie was silent, her breath even and telling Charlotte that perhaps she’d fallen back to sleep, but a nurse came in then. Her smile was kind as she saw Charlotte’s tears, and she passed her a tissue box.
‘There’s nothing easy about seeing someone you love fade away,’ the nurse said. ‘Please don’t feel as if you have to hide your tears from me.’
Charlotte nodded politely, not about to tell her that her tears were for more than her great-grandmother.
‘Oh, and while I’m here, we found a letter among Amalie’s things today. We were searching for a photo she wanted, and we found this. I thought you or your grandmother might want it.’
Charlotte thanked her and took it, letting go of Amalie’s hand and settling back into the armchair beside the bed. Part of her wondered if she should have let her grandmother read it first, but her curiosity was too great.
To my darling daughter,
I’ve wrestled with telling you the truth every month, every year, every decade of your life, but something has always stopped me. Your father was everything a father should be to their child—loving, kind, warm, respectful—and my reason for not telling you is because I never wanted to take any of that away from him. I never wanted you to look at him differently or wonder about the decisions we made. But the truth is that he was not your biological father, and that’s a secret we kept to protect you, and perhaps to protect him, too. And as easy as it is to look back and wonder why the truth was never told, there is never a right time to reveal such a secret. Once you’re a mother, you will understand that mothers will do anything to protect their child and not be parted from them. I suppose I was always afraid that if I told you my secret, everything would fall apart, and Icouldn’t stand to ever see you or your father with a broken heart, to shatter the wonderful bond that you shared.
Charlotte brushed away fresh tears and folded the letter, tucking it into her pocket so that she could give it to her grandmother when she went home.
‘Amalie,’ she whispered, leaning forwards and taking her hand again, thinking about the difficult decisions she’d been forced to make. ‘Amalie?’
The room suddenly felt empty, as if she was the only person there, and when Charlotte placed her palm gently on Amalie’s chest, her breath caught in her throat as the most terrifying feeling passed over her.
‘Amalie?’ she said, giving her a little shake with her hand. ‘Amalie!’
But Amalie didn’t move, and Charlotte knew then that she was gone. While she’d sat there and read her letter, she’d quietly slipped away.
‘Fly high, Amalie,’ Charlotte whispered, sitting back in the armchair and drawing her knees up to her chest as she stared at the white-haired little lady who’d shared so many secrets over her final days, tears openly falling now as her lower lip trembled. ‘We’re all going to miss you so much.’
Thank you, Charlotte thought.Thank you for telling us before it was too late. We’ll never forget the story that you shared with us.
If she hadn’t come home when she had, Charlotte would never have heard Amalie’s stories from the past; her secrets would have been lost forever. And although she knew it had been painful for her grandmother to hear the truth about her conception, it was a story that deserved to be told. Of a woman who’d loved two men, and who’d prospered when life had beenso heavily stacked against her. Who’d made awonderfullife for herself, despite her pain.
Charlotte stood then, knowing she needed to notify someone, and no longer wanting to sit in the room now that Amalie had gone. But she would forever be grateful for the time they’d spent together, and now she had to try to find the same strength in her own life. To move forward on her own, to not keep yearning for the past, but to enjoy every step into the future instead.
She bent low and whispered a final kiss to Amalie’s cheek, grateful for the small miracle that she hadn’t been alone when she’d passed. Once she’d found a nurse, Charlotte went to her car and sat a moment, letting herself cry before taking a deep breath and calling her grandmother.
‘Charlotte?’
‘Amalie’s gone,’ she said, through her tears. ‘I was sitting with her and she just…she just slipped away.’Someone else has left me. Someone else I loved has gone.
‘Where are you?’
Charlotte blew out another breath. ‘In the car park outside.’
‘Then come home, dear girl.’ Her grandmother’s voice caught then, her next words unable to hide the tremble of emotion. ‘Come home so that we can open my best bottle of wine and remember the wonderful woman my mother was.’
‘Grandma, she told me something today, something I want to tell you now before I forget it,’ Charlotte said, her voice still shaky. ‘She looked away and stared out of the window as if she was looking for you, and she wanted me to tell you that she was sorry. She said that they thought keeping it a secret would give you the life she deserved, and that Alexanderwasyour father. She said he became the most wonderful father she could ever have imagined you to have, and she wanted you to remember that.’
Charlotte closed her eyes and remembered the way Amalie had held her hand, only a few hours before; of the way she’d turned and looked to her, as if to implore Charlotte not to forget her words. She would tell her grandmother about the letter when she got home, because it only reinforced what Amalie had said.
In that moment, it had never been clearer to Charlotte that Amalie had loved both men, very much. One for only a handful of months; the other, for a lifetime.
