Impossible

They all burst out laughing. Like, full-on, hugging their stomachs, knee-slapping laughter that echoed in the grand office. It took a moment for my grandmother to notice that I wasn't joining in, but instead stood there, dead serious, a cold dread twisting in my gut. Her laughter tapered off, and then, mercifully, so did my grandfather's. It took Farrah another minute, her face still bright red from mirth, to realize that no one else was laughing. She straightened, looking at all our faces, her smile faltering, then disappearing entirely as she saw the grim set of my mouth.

"What do you mean you're a wolf, sweetheart?" my grandmother asked, her voice tinged with genuine confusion, the last vestiges of amusement fading from her eyes. "I would think that Taly, or even the good-for-nothings at Solus, would have told you you're a hybrid vampire."

Okay, this was it. It was now or never. Taking a steadying step back and a deep, shaky inhale, I decided to lay it all bare. I told them my deepest, darkest secret, the one that had haunted my childhood. "Actually," I said, my voice barely a whisper, "I'm what Mom referred to as a Tribrid."

They all looked at me with a mixture of perplexity and growing worry. I didn't give them a chance to talk, though; the words were tumbling out now, a dam breaking. "Yes, I'm a vampire witch, but my father was also a werewolf, a pureblood. That makes me the unholy trinity." My gaze dropped, fixating entirely on my slippered feet, the chipped nail on my big toe suddenly the most interesting, complex thing in the entire opulent room. I couldn't bear to see the disgust that I was sure would be etched across their faces, the horror that would confirm my worst fears. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

It didn't take long before another pair of feet entered my eyeline, then another. My grandparents were standing directly in front of me now, their presence imposing, waiting for me to look at them. The tension in the room was palpable, a suffocating weight. It was hard, almost impossible, but I knew I had to. Slowly, agonizingly, I lifted my head. Their faces were blurry through the unshed tears that pricked at my eyes.

"Sweetheart," Grandad began, his voice soft, laced with profound worry, "I know that was probably hard for you to tell us, but you do realize that it is impossible for a were and a vamp to successfully mate, don't you?" Worry was deeply etched across his usually smooth face, creasing the corners of his eyes and mouth. He looked genuinely troubled, not disgusted.

"Of course I realize that it was once thought to be impossible!" The words burst from me, tinged with a desperate edge. "But I'm telling you what I know! Mom had a plan in place and everything. Get me through my first shift and then we'd make the potion to mask my scent when I went off to the Academy. Now she's gone and you're trying to send me away before my birthday, and I'll change and everyone will know I'm a freak! They may even lock me up! You can't let them lock me away, Grandma!" My voice broke, splintering into raw sobs. Tilly, without a word, pulled me into a tight embrace, wrapping her arms around me. I began crying like a newborn baby, all the years of fear and suppressed trauma erupting. I was pretty sure I was ruining her nice blouse with my tears and snot, but I couldn't find it in me to care. Her warmth was a dam against the cold terror that had gripped me for so long.

"Oh my, it'll be fine. Stop that crying. It'll be okay." She repeated the soothing words over and over, gently stroking my hair, trying to calm my frantic sobs. She waited patiently, holding me close until my crying had subsided a bit, slowing to ragged gasps. Then, she gently led me to sit on the plush sofa in the office, easing me down beside her. "That's better," she murmured, her voice still laced with concern. She gently wiped the remaining tears from my face with her thumb and moved my hair behind my ear, her touch surprisingly tender. "Now, start from the beginning."

And I did. From the very beginning. I told them the story my mom had woven for me over the years, snippets and fragments that formed the foundation of my existence. I told them she had run away because she fell desperately in love with a werewolf, a forbidden love that defied all known laws of the supernatural world. I described how he was found, forcefully taken back by his father, a powerful pack leader, and how that loss had broken her heart. I recounted the terrifying threat of the Council's retribution, and the moment Mom found out she was pregnant with me – the impossibility, the miracle, the terror of carrying a life that shouldn't exist. I told them about our life on the run, always running, always trying to stay one step ahead of whoever was looking for us, a relentless, shadowy pursuit that defined my entire childhood. The constant packing, the whispered goodbyes, the fleeting glimpses of ordinary life, always just out of reach. I painted a vivid picture of the fear she lived with, the sacrifices she made, all for me. I spoke of her unwavering determination to keep me safe, to guide me through my first shift, even though the knowledge of her own mortality must have weighed heavily on her. I poured out every detail, every anxiety, every fragment of hope and despair that had shaped my past six years in the Institute.

When I was done, a heavy silence descended, broken only by my ragged breathing. Farrah, who had listened intently, her eyes wide and sympathetic, threw her arms around me again. Instead of releasing me, she squeezed between me and the arm of the sofa, creating a warm, comforting cocoon, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around me. My grandparents seemed to be at a complete loss for words. Their faces were etched with a complex blend of shock, sorrow, and something else I couldn't quite decipher. I couldn't help but wonder if they were angry now, angry that they had even looked for me, angry at the impossible, monstrous truth of my existence.

"Say something. Please." I begged, my voice hoarse, barely a whisper. I couldn't take the silence; it was suffocating me, amplifying my deepest fears. My grandfather was the one to break it. Thank goodness.

"Taly didn't tell you who your father was?" he asked, his voice low, filled with a profound sadness.

I shook my head, fresh tears pricking my eyes. "No, she didn't, but she promised that she would when I turned seventeen and had my first shift. I'm sure if she knew she wouldn't be here, she would have told me a long time ago." He nodded his head in the affirmative, a slow, deliberate movement, and silence descended among us again, though this time it felt less oppressive, more contemplative.

"Look, if you guys don't want me here anymore because of what I am, I'll understand," I said, my voice trembling, pushing away from Farrah’s embrace, trying to gather what little dignity I had left. "Just, just don't kick Farrah out too, okay? She didn't do anything wrong. She shouldn't pay for my… weirdness." I made to get up, a desperate urge to flee the room, to escape their silent judgment, but I was stopped dead in my tracks.

"Sit down!" Tilly's voice, sharp and commanding, sliced through the air. It was the first words she'd said since my big reveal, and the first time she'd raised her voice since I'd met her. Even when dealing with the Headmaster, she had been cool, collected, her power expressed in quiet threats. This was different. Her tone brooked no argument. I had no choice but to plant my butt back in the seat, startled into obedience.

"First of all, Genesis, you are our granddaughter. We would never kick you out of our home just because you told us what you did, what you are. Especially after only just finding you after all these years." Her voice softened slightly, but the authority remained. "Secondly, you did nothing wrong either, and neither did your mother. Well, maybe she was wrong for not coming back home when she found out she was pregnant," a flicker of pain crossed her face, quickly suppressed, "but she wasn't wrong for falling in love in the first place."

"But you were so quiet," I stammered, feeling like a petulant child, even as the desperate question burned. "I thought you were trying to figure out how to get rid of me."

Tilly let out a soft sigh, a sound of weary resignation. "I was simply trying to figure out which spell would best mask you after your change, to protect you in a world that might not understand. But I'm not going to do that." She must have seen the fear in my eyes, the fresh wave of terror that thought brought. She gently took my hand in hers, giving it a tight, reassuring squeeze. Her touch was warm, firm, and filled with a surprising strength.

"You won't be able to hide who you are for the rest of your life, dear, nor should you have to." Her eyes, so like my mother's, shone with a fierce determination. "No, when the time is right, we'll let people know. You are a miracle, Genesis, and you have every right to be who you are."