8

Elara’s Pov

The hospital room door swung open slowly, and the sound made my breath hitch in my throat.

For eight long years, whenever a door opened in the Rooke mansion, my body would instantly tense up. I always expected Octavia to walk in, wearing her expensive furs and her cold, judgmental expression, ready to point out everything I was doing wrong. My chest tightened out of pure habit, my hands gripping the white hospital sheets so hard my knuckles turned pale and achy.

I expected the Veyne matriarch to enter my room like a queen ruling over a kingdom, carrying an air of authority that made everyone else feel small. But when the door finally clicked open, and the woman stepped inside, she looked nothing like the cold, demanding mother-in-law I had spent my entire marriage trying to please.

Her name was Seraphina Veyne.

She wore an elegant, dark wool coat and a few simple pieces of expensive jewelry that showed she was a woman accustomed to commanding a powerful family. But none of that mattered because of her face. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, dark circles shadowing beneath them, and her hands shook violently at her sides as she took her first steps into the room.

Seraphina stopped several feet away from the bed, freezing in her tracks. She stared at me, her gaze tracing the curve of my cheek, the line of my jaw, and the way my dark hair fell across my shoulders. Her lips parted, and a quiet, broken sound escaped her throat—a sound full of so much grief and relief that it made my own chest ache.

For several long seconds, neither of us spoke. The room was so quiet I could hear the steady beep of the monitor beside me.

I felt strangely exposed beneath her gaze. It wasn't the cold, calculating stare I was used to getting from Octavia, who looked at me like I was a broken appliance. Seraphina looked at me like I was something fragile and precious that had miraculously returned from the dead. Underneath her eyes, I felt as though she could see every lonely night I had endured in that massive, empty mansion. I felt as though she could see every moment I had spent sitting at the end of a long dining table, wondering why nobody seemed willing to choose me, why I was always so easily forgotten.

"You..." Seraphina finally whispered, her voice cracking and trembling so badly the words barely floated across the room. She took a slow, hesitant step forward, as if she were afraid I might vanish into thin air like smoke if she moved too fast. "You have your father's eyes."

A small, insignificant observation. If a stranger on the street had said that to me, it would have meant nothing. But coming from this woman, hearing those words felt like a physical blow. My throat tightened so hard I couldn't swallow. My eyes stung with sudden, hot tears.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I managed to choke out, looking down at my hands. "I don't know what to say. I don't remember."

"Don't apologize, my sweet girl," Seraphina cried softly, a tear finally spilling over her lashes and running down her pale cheek. She pointed a shaking finger toward the chair beside my bed. "May I... may I sit down? Please? Only if you want me to."

I couldn't say no. I couldn't find the voice to push her away. I gave a tiny, trembling nod.

Seraphina walked over slowly, as if she were walking on glass, and sat down on the edge of the chair. She didn't touch me. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, but the warmth radiating from her presence filled the cold room.

"When you were a little toddler," Seraphina began, her voice softening into a gentle, melodic hum as she looked back at the wall, lost in memories that had haunted her for decades, "you used to follow me around the big family estate all day long. You insisted on carrying a tiny, bright red handbag everywhere you went. You would march into your father's private office, climb up onto his big leather chair, and pretend to attend high-level business meetings with him, pointing at random papers and babbling in your own secret baby language."

I sat completely still, listening. The story sounded like a fairy tale about someone else. I had never carried a red handbag. I had never sat in a leather office chair and played businesswoman. My childhood was filled with the gray, quiet walls of a strict orphanage where we were told to be seen and not heard.

"You used to fall asleep right against my shoulder," Seraphina continued, a watery smile touching her lips. "You hated eating your vegetables—you would hide peas under your mashed potatoes, so I wouldn't see them. And whenever Kael put on his backpack to walk to school, you would cry your eyes out because you thought he was leaving you forever."

The details were so intimate, so ordinary and full of real love, that my heart clenched. I struggled to reconcile them with the life I actually remembered. I had no memory of being cherished in that way. I had no memory of a mother stroking my hair or a brother protecting me. Yet, listening to her speak, a deep, desperate part of me found itself wishing—praying—that I could remember. I wanted to know what the sound of my mother's voice felt like when she sang me to sleep. I wanted to know what it felt like to be held without any conditions or demands.

Seraphina's voice suddenly broke. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as silent, heavy sobs overtook her.

Without thinking, my instincts took over. I reached across the white blanket, grabbed a tissue from the box on the bedside table, and held it out toward her. "Here," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Please... don't cry."

Seraphina lowered her hands and looked at my outstretched hand. She stared at it as though I had just handed her a priceless diamond. Her lower lip quivered, and she gently took the tissue from my fingers, her thumb softly brushing against the back of my hand.

"I'm sorry," Seraphina whispered, wiping her eyes and offering a watery, apologetic smile. "I promised myself I wouldn't overwhelm you. I know this is too much. I won't demand your love or force you to call me mother just because of a DNA test or a family history. We spent twenty-four years learning how to live with the heavy nightmare of your disappearance... but no amount of time ever made us stop loving you for a single second."

I wanted to ask the question that had been burning in my chest since Kael first walked into the room. I wanted to ask why, if they loved me so much, they couldn't find me. Why I had to grow up alone, feeling unloved and unwanted while they were out there looking.

But when I looked up and saw the raw, open wound of pain and exhaustion on Seraphina's face, the question felt too cruel to speak out loud. I couldn't break her heart. Instead, I swallowed hard and asked something else.

"Did you... did you ever really believe that I might still be alive?" I asked softly, my eyes searching her face. "After all those years... when everyone else probably told you to give up?"

Seraphina answered without a single second of hesitation. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with absolute, unshakable certainty.

"Every single day," she whispered fiercely. "I never allowed myself to believe anything else. Every year on your birthday, no matter how many years passed, I always baked a cake. I put candles on it, and your father and your brothers stood beside me in the dark, and we sang to an empty chair. Because deep down in my soul, some part of me always hoped... always prayed... that you might somehow walk through the front door before those candles burned out."

Hearing those words broke the final wall inside my chest. I turned my face away sharply, squeezing my eyes shut as hot tears poured down my cheeks.

I couldn't explain it. I couldn't understand why the thought of a birthday cake waiting for a missing child hurt so much more than all the cold, expensive jewelry and empty gifts Darian had ever bought me. Darian gave me things to quiet his guilt; this woman had given me her hope when she had nothing left.

The clock on the wall ticked quietly. Finally, Seraphina took a deep, shaky breath, stood up slowly from the chair, and smoothed down her wool coat.

"I should let you rest now," she said softly, her voice filled with a heartbreaking gentleness. She walked slowly toward the door, pausing just before the handle. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes shining in the sterile hospital light. "May I... may I come back tomorrow? To see you again?"

I looked at her, realizing with a shock that my heart didn't want her to leave. I nodded slowly. "Yes," I whispered. "You can come back."

Seraphina's face lit up with a brief, beautiful smile. She turned the brass doorknob and pulled the door open, stepping out into the hallway.

Just as she reached the doorway, a sudden surge of fear and confusion gripped my chest. I couldn't hold it back anymore.