Chapter 13 #2
Something shifts in her gaze. I can’t tell if it’s fear, calculation, or opportunity. All of it flickers behind her eyes like shadows crossing a flame.
“I’m sick, Trudy,” Diana whispers. “I don’t have time.”
Silence stretches too long. Gertrude looks at the child again then to the envelope. Her gaze lingers on the envelope a fraction longer than it should. Her lips press into a thin line. Then she exhales, long and tired, like she’s giving in.
“Fine.” She looks away as she says it. “Just put him on the bed.”
“Thank you, Trudy. Thank you.” Diana wipes her tears and gently lays her baby down.
Her thumb brushes over her son’s temple. “I love you, Harlow. I’m so sorry. I wish you a life full of good things. You deserve everything good this world can give. Whatever people say about me… just remember I love you. Until my last breath.”
She presses kisses to his forehead, then both his cheeks. Diana pulls him into a tight embrace, breaking into one last shattered sob. It hurts to watch. Standing there unseen, I cry in silence.
The vision shifts again.
This time, a woman crouches in front of a small, familiar house. Her black cloak covers most of her body. The night is dark, but I can still make out her face.
Young Mrs. Gertrude straightens, then turns and runs. She disappears into the night without looking back. A basket sits abandoned at the doorstep.
Inside it, a little boy with dark-brown hair sleeps soundly. A thick blanket is tucked up to his chin. A large bag rests beside him.
The cold morning mist settles in. Not long after, the child cries. Loud. Raw. Like thunder breaking through a silent sky.
The door creaks open. An older woman steps out, her wrinkled face tightening in shock as she sees the basket at her feet. She crouches down and picks up a piece of paper tucked beneath the baby’s pillow.
“What is it, Mom?” A young man walks up behind her, rubbing his stomach with a wide yawn.
“His name is Harlow. He’s only a year old.” The old woman’s face softens. “Oh, you poor thing, my boy.” She gathers the crying child into her arms.
“What the hell? Whose kid is that?” The young man’s eyes widen as he watches her carry both the baby and the bag inside.
“Who else? Obviously one of your girlfriends’ children. Which girl did you force to get rid of him?” she snaps.
“What? No one. Don’t pin that on me!”
“Whatever. What matters is he was born safe.” She looks down at the baby with a gentle smile. “Look at him. Strong bones, handsome face. He’ll grow into a fine Gamma warrior someday.”
The young man lets out a sharp laugh. “Don’t dream too big. The Phillips family has always been Omegas. At best, he’ll end up guarding the borders.” His laughter fades as the door slams shut.
* * *
Present day
I wake from the shadows in my mind. I blink, and the ballroom snaps back into place around me. People nearby groan as they stir awake, lifting their heads from their slumped positions, confusion rippling through the room. My hand slips out of Mrs. Geeny’s grasp.
A low wave of groans ripples through the room as everyone absorbs the truth behind Harlow’s background. My cheeks are wet, tears still slipping free no matter how hard I try to stop them.
I turn to Harlow beside me. His eyes are red, tear tracks glistening along his cheeks. I take his hand, but it isn’t enough for him. He pulls me into a tight embrace.
I let him cry into my shoulder, my hand moving slowly over his back until his breathing steadies. When we finally pull apart, I glance around the room.
Alpha Romero is crying. So is Mr. Pascoe. His tears fall freely, uncontrolled, like something long buried has finally broken loose. No one speaks for a while.
“What is this?” Mrs. Gertrude shrieks, her voice cutting through the room. “This is nothing but a trick by those witches! They conspired to deceive all of you!” She stutters.
“Those filthy witches can not be trusted. They should be captured! They manipulated our memories with magic! It’s dark magic!” She refuses to accept it. Of course she does.
“We aren’t what you call us,” Mrs. Geeny says firmly. “This is the blessing of the Moon Goddess, not dark magic. And it clearly shows that Gabriel cheated in the Alpha trial, with your help.” She points straight at Mrs. Gertrude.
My stepmother’s face turns deathly pale. Her mouth hangs open before she breaks into loud, dramatic sobs. As always, she slips into the role of the victim the moment things turn against her.
Mr. Pascoe wipes his face and lifts a trembling hand. His jaw tightens as he points straight at Mrs. Gertrude.
“Gertrude. You traitor,” he hisses. “My sister trusted you with her child, and you abandoned him to the Phillips family.” His voice cracks through the room like a whip.
I’ve never seen him like this. He has always been calm. Measured. Controlled. I had never seen him lose himself to anger like this before.
Mrs. Gertrude stumbles back a step, her gaze darting wildly around the room. Voices rise all at once, accusations thrown at her from every direction.
“How could you do that, Gertrude?”
“Do you know nothing about loyalty?”
“My sister treated you like family, and this is how you repay her?” Mr. Pascoe’s voice cuts through them all again, raw and furious. “My sister saw you as her own sister, and you betrayed her.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Mrs. Gertrude snaps back, her voice shrill, defensive. “No one wants to marry a woman with a bastard child! If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame your father. He’s the one who cast her out!”
The words land hard. Mr. Pascoe lets out a broken sound, something between a gasp and a howl. He covers his face, shoulders shaking as grief overtakes him.
“She didn’t deserve that,” he chokes.
Across the room, Alpha Romero wipes his face again and again, as if the truth has carved something open inside him that refuses to close.
Slowly, the room settles. Breaths are drawn. Voices fade. Even Mr. Darius stands silent now, the shock of the revealed memories stripping him of argument.
At last, Alpha Romero steps forward. He raises his fist, and the room stills instantly. Every eye turns to him as he clears his throat. I keep my arm around Harlow’s waist, steadying him, bracing for what comes next.
“We all saw it,” Romero says, his voice steady despite the emotion beneath it. “Those memories weren’t fabricated. I confirm that everything we witnessed is real.”