Chapter Twenty-One – Estelle
Is this crazy? Estelle asked her dragon as she drove out of Bear Creek.
No, her dragon replied. We’re doing what we need to do to keep Adara safe.
But will this actually make her safer? Estelle asked. She had been so certain when she left the cottage.
Now, with the road stretching ahead of her and Bear Creek shrinking in the mirror, certainty felt harder to hold.
I don’t know, her dragon admitted. But we have to try.
“It feels wrong to leave without saying goodbye,” she whispered. “Leo deserves better than that.”
But this is not about Leo, her dragon reminded her.
Isn’t it? Estelle asked. Isn’t he part of this now? Because he’s part of us.
We have to set those thoughts aside, her dragon said. Because this is about ending it. Once and for all.
She glanced at her GPS. Ten more minutes and she would be there.
What if she won’t listen? her dragon asked. What if this makes everything worse?
Then at least I tried something different, Estelle said.
Her dragon went quiet after that, but Estelle could feel her there, close and taut and ready.
The café sat at the edge of town, quiet enough for what Estelle had in mind. She parked and sat for a moment, forcing herself to stay still.
If you tell her what we are and she still cannot accept it...
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Estelle said.
Her dragon sighed. Let’s do this.
Estelle got out of the car and crossed to the café. The bell above the door jingled softly as she stepped inside.
Margaret was already there, seated at a corner table with her back to the wall. She looked older than Estelle remembered her. Her hair seemed whiter, the lines around her mouth deeper. Both hands were wrapped tightly around a coffee mug.
Their eyes met, and for a moment neither of them moved.
She’s afraid, too, her dragon realized.
The thought was so unexpected that Estelle almost stopped. But she made herself keep walking until she reached the table.
“Thank you for coming,” Margaret said. Her voice was clipped, but not cold.
“I think it’s time we talked,” Estelle replied, sliding into the seat across from her. “Really talked.”
A server appeared, and Estelle ordered tea. When the woman left, silence stretched between them.
“Where is she?” Margaret asked at last.
“Safe,” Estelle said. “With someone I trust.”
Margaret’s jaw tightened. “You always make it sound as if I’m a danger to her.”
“Not a danger exactly,” Estelle replied quietly. “But the way you’ve behaved...”
“Because you took her,” Margaret snapped, though she kept her voice low. “You took all I had left of Julian.”
The pain in her voice was raw enough to catch Estelle off guard.
“I know how much you loved him,” Estelle said carefully. “And I know how much you love Adara.”
Margaret looked up sharply, as if that acknowledgment was the last thing she had expected.
“But there are things about Adara, about Maris too, that you never knew. Things I’ve been terrified to tell you.”
“Like what?” Margaret asked. Suspicion sharpened her voice, but there was something else there, too. Unease, perhaps.
The server returned with Estelle’s tea. Estelle waited until she had moved away.
“Maris wasn’t...” She paused. “She wasn’t like most people.”
Margaret’s mouth flattened. “If you’re about to tell me she was too good for my Julian...”
“No.” Estelle cut in. “That’s not it. They loved each other. Completely.” She drew in a breath. “And there was a reason for that. One that you might find hard to understand.”
“Try me,” Margaret said curtly.
“Okay,” Estelle said, keeping her voice low. “Maris and Julian were mates.”
“Mates?” Margaret screwed up her face. “Is that meant to mean something to me?”
“There’s more...” Now that she was here in front of Margaret, the idea seemed crazy.
And yet Estelle knew deep in her bones this was the right thing. That this was what Fiona meant when she said, You know what you have to do, when she’d visited Estelle’s cottage the second time.
But knowing it was the right thing and actually doing it, actually saying the words, was harder than she’d ever imagined.
But they have to be said, her dragon told her.
“Maris was different.”
“So you said.” Margaret’s tone grew impatient.
Just say it, her dragon told her.
“Maris was a dragon shifter.” The words tumbled out of Estelle’s mouth so fast that for a moment she wondered if she’d only thought them rather than said them.
But then she saw Margaret’s expression, and she knew she’d said them out loud.
Yes, she heard them, her dragon said.
Margaret stared at her, first in confusion, then in disbelief, then with a kind of pained anger.
“I don’t know what kind of story you think you’re telling me,” she said, her voice low and controlled, “but if you expect me to sit here and listen to nonsense...”
“I know how it sounds,” Estelle said. “I know it’s hard to believe without proof.”
This isn’t enough, her dragon warned. Words won’t carry this.
I know.
Margaret pushed back from the table. “I think we’re done here.”
“Wait.” Estelle leaned forward. “Please. I know you can’t believe me like this. That’s why I came alone. Because I can prove it to you.”
Margaret stopped with one hand on her purse.
She’s torn, her dragon said. She wants to leave, but she can’t.
“Prove it. How?” Margaret asked.
“I need you to trust me,” Estelle said. “But I can’t prove it to you here. I need you to come with me.”
Margaret stared at her for a long moment. “Why should I go anywhere with you?”
“Because you love Adara,” Estelle said simply. “And because, despite everything, I still believe you want what’s best for her.”
Margaret’s jaw tensed, and she swallowed hard. “I do. I always have.”
“There’s a nature preserve about ten minutes from here,” Estelle said. “We can go somewhere quiet.”
“And then what?”
“You’ll see.” Estelle could barely breathe as she waited for Margaret to answer.
Margaret was silent so long that Estelle thought she would refuse. Then she picked up her purse. “I’ll follow in my own car,” she said.
We’re really doing this, her dragon said.
Yes, Estelle thought. Because running hasn’t worked. Because Adara deserves better than a life spent looking over her shoulder.
The drive to the nature preserve was short but felt longer. Estelle checked her rearview mirror more than once, half expecting to see Margaret turn around. But the sleek black sedan stayed behind her all the way to the small parking lot at the trailhead.
They walked in silence after that, following a narrow path through pines and aspens. Estelle led them away from the main trail and up toward a small clearing she had spotted on the map earlier.
“Far enough,” Margaret said at last, stopping near the edge of the trees. She folded her arms across herself. “Now show me your proof.”
Estelle pushed out her senses, making sure they were truly alone. They were.
“What I’m about to show you,” she said carefully, “will change what you think you know about Maris. About all of it.”
Margaret’s mouth tightened. “Then show me.”
Estelle’s dragon stirred, tense and ready. Last chance to change your mind.
I know.
Estelle took one step back, putting distance between them. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “But you are going to be frightened.”
Margaret said nothing.
Estelle closed her eyes and let go.
The air popped and crackled. One moment, she stood there in jeans and boots, and the next her dragon filled the clearing, her scales glimmering in the afternoon light.
Margaret stumbled backward with a broken sound, one hand flying to her mouth. Her face drained of color. For a moment, Estelle thought she might run.
But she didn’t.
She stood rooted where she was, eyes wide and wet, staring as if the world had split open in front of her.
“My God,” she whispered.
Estelle held still. She let Margaret look. Let her see the truth.
Then, when the silence had stretched as far as it could, Estelle shifted back, her pulse hammering in her throat, and met Margaret’s gaze.
“That’s what Maris was,” she said quietly. “And what Adara will be.”
Margaret stared at her. “Julian knew?”
Estelle nodded. “Yes.”
Something in Margaret’s face crumpled.
“He knew,” she repeated, as though trying to fit the words inside a life that had already broken once before. “He knew and he...”
“He loved her,” Estelle said. “Exactly as she was.”
Margaret closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, tears were slipping unchecked down her face.
“And Adara will be too?” Margaret asked. “You mean she isn’t already?”
“She’s too young yet,” Estelle said. “But yes. It’s part of who she is, and that will never change. One day, she’ll shift, and when that day comes, she will need people around her who understand what they’re seeing. People who won’t fear her. People who won’t try to change her, or worse.”
“Worse.” Margaret made a strangled sound, half grief, half horror. “And all this time...”
“All this time I have been trying to keep that future safe,” Estelle said. “Not from you because I wanted to be cruel. From fear. From exposure. From the kind of attention that would ruin her life before she was old enough to understand what was happening to her.”
Margaret sank onto a fallen log as though her legs had given way beneath her.
“I thought...” She broke off and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I thought you were keeping her from me. I thought you wanted to erase us. Julian. All of it.”
“Never that,” Estelle said.
Margaret looked up at her then, wrecked and raw in a way Estelle had never seen. Not controlled. Not righteous. Just devastated.
“I loved my son,” she said. “I loved that child before she was even born. And I have spent years making myself into the thing you had to protect her from.”
The words landed hard.
Estelle did not rush to comfort her. This was not a hurt she could soften.
“You didn’t know,” she said instead. “But even so...”
Margaret flinched. “I should have behaved better toward you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
For a moment, the only sound was the wind moving through the trees.
Then Margaret drew in a shaky breath. “Tell me what you need from me.”
The question nearly undid Estelle.
What she needed. Not what Margaret believed she deserved. Not what she wanted. What Estelle needed.
“I need you to accept this as truth,” Estelle said. “Not as madness. Not as a story. As truth.” Her voice steadied as she went on. “And I need you to understand that loving Adara is not enough if that love comes with fear and control. She cannot grow up under that.”
Margaret lowered her head. “No.”
“If you are going to be part of her life,” Estelle said, “then you have to protect her secret as fiercely as I have. No questions asked. No investigators. No lawyers. No pressure. No one else brought into this. Ever.”
Margaret sat very still.
Then, slowly, she lifted her face again.
She pushed herself to her feet. She looked older than she had in the café. Smaller somehow. But clearer too.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “Not a word. I swear it.”
Estelle searched her face. Looking for the truth.
“I believe you,” Estelle said.
And to her surprise, she meant that too. After all that had happened, it seemed impossible. But she did.
Margaret let out a breath that sounded almost like pain. “Will you let me see her?”
Estelle closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. “Yes,” she said. “If you remember what matters most.”
Margaret nodded. “Her safety.”
“Her safety,” Estelle agreed.
Neither of them moved for a moment. The clearing felt strange now, not lighter exactly, but emptied of something hard and relentless that had lived between them too long.
At last, Margaret stepped back. “I should go.”
Estelle nodded.
Margaret hesitated, then said, “I am sorry.”
The words were plain. Not enough to erase the pain. Not enough to mend everything they had broken between them.
But they were real.
“I know,” Estelle said.
Margaret gave one last unsteady nod, then turned and made her way back down the path without looking behind her.
Estelle stood where she was until the sound of Margaret’s footsteps disappeared completely.
Only then did her knees threaten to give way.
Her dragon let out a shaky breath. We did it.
Estelle put a hand against the rough bark of the nearest tree and bowed her head.
Yes, she thought. We did.
For the sake of a little girl and the man she loved, she had revealed her true self to Margaret.
Now she could go home.
Now she could stop running.
Now she could put down roots.
Deep roots.