Chapter 15 #3
The bowl slipped from my fingers and shattered across the floor.
My knees gave way beneath me and I collapsed among scattered flour and broken pottery as sobs burst from my chest with a force that almost frightened me.
Without my noticing it, the emotions I’d believed unnecessary had quietly returned, one memory at a time, until there was nothing left I was willing to surrender.
No magical spell swept away the pain. Instead, I felt Granny slowly lower herself beside me with the greatest of care, despite the effort it clearly cost her.
Her frail hand rested upon my shoulder, warm and steady.
She didn't speak, simply remained with me while years of buried grief finally found their voice.
The tears refused to stop, not because the magic had returned anything to me, but because for the first time in years I stopped fighting them.
Memory after memory crashed over me, not the emotions themselves, but their absence that I finally noticed. I should have missed Mother, I should have grieved Father, I should have remembered and mourned them. How had I lived for years without wondering why I never thought of them?
The realization hollowed me. I had believed I was escaping grief. Instead, I had abandoned the people I loved to silence it. And somehow…that loss hurt far more than grief ever could.
Granny encircled me with her frail arms, allowing me to mourn, to process what I’d lost. “I wish I’d never made that decision,” I choked. “I wanted to be free from the pain, but I didn’t realize what I was giving up.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Granny soothed. “You were a hurting, dear. I hated that the magic would allow you to make such a bargain, but I couldn’t stop it.”
“Yet now it’s too late,” I said. “I’ve given my heart away to the magic, and now I have nothing to offer you, Gabe, or anyone else.”
“It is never too late,” Granny said fiercely. “Whether you can feel or not, your heart is filled with love.”
I blinked at her through my tears. “What do you mean?”
Granny shook her head. “I’ve been remiss in your education, my child.
Love isn’t just an emotion—the excitement of being around someone or the affection you sense for a person.
Feelings are important, but love is so much more.
When you choose to put someone else’s needs ahead of your own, to care for that person like you would want to be cared for, you are acting out of true love.
” She rested a tender hand against my tear-stained cheek.
“You’ve shown me love all of your life. No matter what you are feeling, Cecelia, you are capable of deep love. ”
I stared at her, my heart beating fast. My first instinct was to disagree. How could someone incapable of feeling love possibly possess it?
Yet as I searched my memories, moments quietly rose to the surface.
Sitting beside Granny through long nights when illness robbed her of sleep.
Mending her favorite apron before she even realized it had torn.
Walking farther than I wished to gather the herbs that eased her coughing.
Rising before dawn to bake her favorite cinnamon rolls simply because she smiled whenever she smelled them.
I’d done each of those things long after I’d sacrificed the feelings that should have inspired them—not because the magic demanded it, but because I had wanted to. Perhaps love had been there all along. I simply hadn't known what I was looking for.
Granny gave my cheek an affectionate pat and glanced towards her bedroom door. “Help me up, child. I need to rest.”
I carefully helped her to her feet and supported her to her room, easing her onto the mattress before drawing the quilt over her.
I hesitated only a moment before brushing her wisps of silver hair back from her forehead, my touch lingering longer than it needed to.
Without conscious decision, I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lined forehead.
The gesture felt strangely familiar—not because I remembered doing it before, but because it felt as natural as breathing. I hadn’t paused to calculate whether she deserved kindness, I hadn't stopped to ask whether I possessed enough emotion. I had simply wanted her to be comfortable.
The realization settled quietly over me. Perhaps Granny had been right—love wasn’t proven by what stirred within my heart, but by what flowed from my hands.
“Thank you, Cecelia,” Granny said softly. “Please send Nutmeg in here, and shut the door when you leave.”
I longed to remain beside her a little longer, but I obediently rose and crossed to the window, drawing the curtains until only a gentle ribbon of afternoon light remained. When I turned back, her eyes had already drifted closed.
For a long moment I simply watched her—the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the peaceful softness that sleep brought to her weathered face, the hand still resting atop the quilt where mine had held it just now.
A quiet ache settled within me—not the frantic fear that had driven me towards the recipe book, but something gentler.
I wanted more time. Not because I feared being left alone, but because I loved her. Whether I could feel that love or not no longer seemed to matter.
I quietly slipped from the room, closing the door with all the care such a precious person deserved.