24. A Name She’ll Never Know #4
The late afternoon sunlight cascades over the garden, illuminating the patch of primroses nestled beside the doorway.
Their soft, purple petals seem to radiate warmth in the golden light, delicate yet striking.
A smile tugs at my lips, a gentle warmth spreading through my chest at the sight of them .
I know exactly what they signify, and I treasure their presence here.
Primroses aren’t merely flowers—they are silent sentinels standing guard against the unseen.
Shielding homes from the most mischievous, their placement marking the threshold between the human world and the Otherworld.
There’s an intrinsic magic in them, a connection to something greater that has always captivated me.
Somehow, the revelations of the past few weeks have brought clarity.
Now I understand why my family surrounds themselves with these flowers, as if weaving protection and meaning into every petal.
“It’s lovely to see you out of bed, my dear,” Deidre’s voice calls out warmly from the side.
She stands a few paces away, wiping her hands on her apron, her cheek streaked with a bit of soil.
“You’re admiring my handiwork, are you?” she adds with a teasing smile, though her tone softens as she moves closer.
I give her a small, self-conscious smile. “I know it does nothing to wallow away in my room,” I reply, though my voice betrays the lingering heaviness in my heart.
Deidre pauses, her gaze steady. “It’s strange, isn’t it?
How loss reshapes us. Sometimes it feels like the grief will consume us entirely, but the heart has a remarkable way of creating space for both the sorrow and the joy.
Don’t rush yourself, love. Healing takes time, as so does learning to carry the love left behind.
” She gestures toward the flowers with a faint smile.
“And speaking of love, those primroses there—they’re brimming with it, aren’t they? ”
Her words linger in the air as I glance back at the blooms, my smile returning, but tinged with a hint of sadness.
“They’re perfect,” I breathe. “Ma loved them...” The words catch in my throat as a wave of emotion swells within me.
I quickly avert my gaze, ashamed of the tears that threaten to fall.
“I’m not even sure how to stop calling her my mother,” I add quietly.
“Don’t stop,” she says. “She will always be your mother. Blood doesn’t determine that kind of love.”
“It just hurts twice over,” I admit, “mourning the loss of a second mother I never even had the chance to meet.”
“I’ll never smell a primrose and not think of Ellen.”
The sentiment catches me off guard, my breath hitching slightly, but before I can respond, Deidre adds, almost absently, “Sarah loved them, too.”
“Truly?” I ask. Hearing her name is foreign and carries the ache of a connection I’ll never fully know .
Deidre’s gaze lingers on me, unreadable for a moment before she steps closer. “Very much so. She’d have adored seeing you so drawn to them.”
I brush my fingers lightly against a bloom, careful not to damage its fragile beauty. “They’re beautiful, and they feel right here.”
“There you are,” Amelia calls, stepping lightly into the garden. She’s dressed impeccably, her smile warm but carrying that glint of determination I associate with her. “I’ve been looking for you, dear. May I steal you for a moment?”
I straighten, brushing off my skirt. “Of course. What is it?”
Amelia’s gaze flits to the primroses, her smile softening. “I was wondering if you might accept an invitation to a ball being thrown tomorrow night.”
The question catches me off guard, and I blink at her, unsure how to respond. “A ball? I… I’m not sure.” My voice falters as doubt creeps in.
Amelia doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s going to be held here, at my villa,” she says lightly, as though that might ease my hesitation. “And before you protest, all the gentlemen seem onboard with the idea.”
I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “Oh, really? All of them?”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “It’s true, I promise. But there’s a reason for their enthusiasm.” Her expression softens as she steps closer, her voice lowering. “We’re throwing it for you, Triona. To celebrate you.”
“For me?” I repeat, unable to mask the disbelief in my voice. “Why?”
Amelia’s eyes glisten, her smile tinged with something bittersweet. “Because you deserve to be celebrated. I’ve spent the last nineteen years honouring your birthday from afar, and now that I finally have the chance, I want to make up for all the time I’ve missed. Please, let me do this.”
The earnestness in her gaze leaves no room for refusal. Slowly, I nod. “All right,” I breathe, a tentative smile forming. “If it means that much to you, I’ll accept. But it seems a polite decline might not have been an option, either way.”
The smile that crosses her face is mischievous. “You would be correct, but I promise you won’t regret it.” She takes my hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze before releasing me. “Now, come inside. There’s much to plan.”
With a deep breath, I follow her, the quiet resolve within me shifting to something lighter, brighter.