Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
T he click of the latch reverberates through the room as Edmond leaves me alone with only my thoughts and this book. What could possibly be inside that I need to be alone to read?
I scan the outside, looking for some kind of clue as nervousness overtakes me. I am slightly afraid to open it. Once I do, there is no coming back from whatever is inside. From the way Edmond acted, it seems really important.
I carefully peel back the cover and scan the first page.
Nothing.
Blank.
No clues to be seen. My fingers flutter over the corner of the first page, sliding behind it, ready to turn.
Curiosity overcomes my nerves and I flip it rapidly, eyes scanning to find the text. My eyes snag on the writing at the top of the page.
“My Dearest Daughter…”
The words begin to blur as I slam the book closed. The loud slap echoes off the walls and hits my ringing ears.
Daughter.
My dearest. Daughter.
Who wrote this?
What kind of joke is Edmond playing? No, Edmond would never play this kind of trick on me. This has to be real, and the thought sends my mind spiraling.
There is no way this could be from my father, so that leaves only one person…
My mother.
My hand shakes as I reach to open the book again, flipping to the first page. I scan over it quickly and let out a quiet sob as I take in the dainty script handwriting that fills the pages. I flip through the book, the pages filled with writing, almost to the end.
This was hers, and she wrote it all to me.
I fumble through the pages, making my way back to the first so I can start at the beginning. Edmond said I should have had this long ago, so who kept it from me? Was it him, or was it my father?
The pit deepening in my gut screams at me my father was the one who hid it. I can only imagine why.
I inhale a deep, shuddering breath before looking at the words again. I want to devour them, but I force myself to take them in slowly, and savor every ounce of her I can .
My Dearest Daughter,
Well, I am calling you that, because despite your father already planning to name his son after himself, I know deep in my heart that you are a girl. My Lennox. I’ve always dreamt of giving that name to my daughter, and I know that is exactly what will happen. The moment we found out you were coming, your father and I were overjoyed. We are counting the days until we get to hold you in our arms. We waited so very long for you, and we will wait ever so patiently now, knowing that you will soon be ours forever.
I wanted to write to you, my darling girl, every single day because there are so many things I just cannot wait to tell you. That is why I started this journal, to make sure that you did not miss a moment of the happiness your father and I are experiencing, waiting for our joy.
I love you, my sweet girl, more than you will ever know.
Love,
Your Mother Lyl a
I cover my mouth to hide the sound of the sobs that are wreaking havoc over my body. Never once had I seen anything written by my mother, nor heard anyone talk about her feelings toward me. She has been a mystery, a ghost, but she is coming to life before my eyes.
I can’t stop myself now. I read as quickly as I can, flipping the pages and soaking up this woman I never got to know.
By the time I reach the end, having read through every word a second time, the library is dark. My eyes are filled with a dull pain from both straining to read the words in the dimming light, too engrossed to stop, and from the constant tears being shed.
That’s it. It’s over. Those are the only words I will ever get from her .
Edmond was right. I needed to be alone when I read this. I am glad I listened, because I’m a mess. I curl up into a ball, sinking as deep into the chair as I can, clutching the journal to my chest and cry.
I let everything out, all the emotion that I tried to bottle in for the past twenty years. I let the sobs overtake me, my body heaving and my muscles clenching as I gasp for air. I can barely open my eyes, and my body feels as if it is made of stone.
I cry for gods know how long, alone in the library, hoping that no one will come looking for me.
I don’t want anyone’s comfort right now.
I only want hers.
I want to feel her arms wrap around me and hold me tight, petting my hair and telling me I will be alright. I want to know the sound of my mother’s voice and hear her say the words she used to sign off every note.
I love you, my sweet girl, more than you will ever know .
A hole in my chest widens at the realization that I will never know her, never truly meet my mother, who wanted me so badly. I will never meet the woman who took so much time writing to me about her day, her life, telling me stories of her childhood and her hopes and dreams for mine.
How could Edmond be so cruel, giving this to me now, when he knew that her time is done? That I will never have a chance to meet her? That my hope for ever knowing her is lost?
Why would he give me this gift, only to have her loss be so much harder now that I got to see a glimpse of this amazing woman, this parent who actually wanted me? My childhood, my whole life to this point, would have been so different if only my mother were there, and I wasn’t subject to a father who couldn’t care less, who could barely even look at me.
I feel the loss drag me down, deep under the waves of tears and hurt and pain.
I lay there in the chair, in the dark until the sobs slow, my body so heavy and my energy so depleted that I can barely move. All I have now are my thoughts, and I can’t get past the one repeatedly running through
my mind.
Why would Edmond do this to me?
Why would he want to hurt me in this way?
What was he trying to teach me?
My mind strains as I try to think back to the events of the morning. Reading the journal had completely consumed me, and I try to focus on what came before it.
Edmond’s story. The myth of Dawnlin.
Hope.
Was Edmond trying to give me the gift of my mother so that I wouldn’t lose hope for her? It was a pretty fucked up and cruel way to go about it. I told him I didn’t believe in the magic, but was there hope I could actually have?
Maybe that is all the magic was. What if it was a metaphor, something to help people understand they don’t have to be hopeless?
Maybe I don’t have to be.
Maybe it is time to consider letting her go.
No. I don’t have to accept that. I can be the magic, and I can work to figure out how to help her. I told Edmond I didn’t believe in sitting around and waiting for something magical. That would cause nothing but pain .
My mother has been lying in that bed for over twenty years, waiting for a miracle.
I don’t have time to wait around for magic or myth.
The healers say that this is it, that it is time to give up hope.
I already said goodbye to a woman I didn’t know, to the idea of having a mother, but I have her now. I have her in these words, in her book, and by some weird fate, she is still there, waiting.
Maybe she is waiting for me, not to give up hope, and to be the one to do something more, to find something that can help her, and not to just release all hope and let her go like they are trying to convince my father to.
This had to be why Edmond said I needed the journal now. He didn’t want me to give up hope, to give up on her. He wanted me to see what I was losing and do something about it.
I suck in a breath and push myself up, wiping away the tears and trying to blink through the swelling.
I will do it. I won’t give up on her, I won’t give up hope.
But I don’t have much time. All it would take is one word from my father, and they would stop providing her care and let her fade away. I need to act now. Clearly Edmond believes I can.
And maybe if I believe in myself and find something to bring her back to me, my father will finally see how worthy I am to rule this kingdom, and I won’t be alone while I do it.