Estelle nodded, swallowing hard. “Maris was so happy. She’d always wanted a child, and when Adara was born—this perfect little girl with her father’s smile and her mother’s dragon spark—it felt like everything she’d dreamed of was coming true.”
Her voice faltered as the memories rushed in. Maris, radiant with joy, cradled a newborn Adara. The three of them—Maris, Julian, and Adara—were a small, happy family.
“What happened?” Leo asked gently.
Estelle closed her eyes for a moment. “There was an accident. A car crash. Maris and Julian were driving home. The roads were icy...” She shook her head. “They didn’t make it.”
Leo’s hand found hers, warm and steady, anchoring her as the grief threatened to move through her all over again.
“Adara was with me,” Estelle continued after a moment. “I was babysitting while they had a rare night out. She was only six months old.”
“And you’ve raised her since then,” Leo said, his voice thick with understanding.
“Yes.” Estelle met his eyes. “Maris named me as guardian in her will. She made me promise that if anything ever happened to her and Julian, I would take care of Adara. That I would protect her.”
Leo’s brow furrowed slightly. “And Julian’s family didn’t accept that?”
He’s put so many of the pieces together,Estelle’s dragon said.
Estelle looked down at their joined hands. “Julian’s mother, Margaret, didn’t agree with the arrangement. She believed—still believes—that Adara belongs with Julian’s family. That blood should come first.”
“But Maris made her wishes clear.”
“She did. But grief makes people cling to what they think they can still hold on to.” Estelle paused. “Margaret loved Julian deeply. And I do believe she loves Adara, in her way. That’s what makes this so hard.”
“I’m sure she does,” Leo whispered. “But grief can twist the way we see things.”
“She challenged things at first,” Estelle went on. “Not constantly. But enough. At first, it was questions about how I was raising Adara. Little things like bedtimes and mealtimes. It was as if she thought I wasn’t capable of even the basics.”
Leo nodded and squeezed her hand.
“It got to the point where I started questioning myself. So I pushed back. Set boundaries.” Estelle paused. “That made it worse. There were letters from solicitors. Requests for visits that quickly became demands. Questions about where we were living, what school I’d eventually choose... it was like she wanted every detail. Like she was trying to wear me down until I gave in and handed Adara over.”
Leo’s expression darkened slightly. “And that’s why you left?”
Estelle shook her head. “Not at first. At first, I tried to manage it. I tried to be reasonable. I told myself Margaret was grieving, that she needed time, that maybe we could find some kind of balance.”
She drew in a slow breath.
“But it kept getting worse. I was anxious all the time,” Estelle admitted. “I told myself I was coping. That I was doing what I had to do. But I wasn’t sleeping properly. I was always waiting for the next message, the next request, the next reminder that she hadn’t accepted any of this.”
Her voice cracked.
“And then one day Adara said something.”
Leo went still beside her.
Estelle looked over at the sleeping child on the rug, her expression softening even as pain flickered through it. “Margaret had been talking in front of her more than I realized.Adara was still little, but little children hear everything. She looked up at me one day and said, very seriously, ‘Grandma Margaret says she’ll never give up until I come home to where I belong.’”
Leo’s jaw tightened.
“And that was the moment I knew I couldn’t keep pretending it was manageable,” Estelle said quietly. “Because it wasn’t just affecting me anymore. It was starting to affect Adara, too. This sense that she was being tugged between people. That someone else was always waiting to claim her.”
She swallowed.
“And all the while, I knew what the future held. Adara may be little now, but one day she’ll shift. Not for years, but it will happen. And I couldn’t risk that future unfolding around people who wouldn’t understand what they were seeing.”
Leo’s voice was low when he spoke. “And you didn’t trust Margaret with that truth.”
