Chapter 186
Julian： POV
My gaze locked on the woman in black heading our way, every instinct screaming danger. But she passed our row without a glance, her head bowed as she stopped at a grave several yards away. A mourner, just like us.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, my paranoia momentarily subsiding as I turned my focus back to Elena.
Lila was asleep in my arms, her small body warm and trusting against my chest. She'd been curious at first, asking Elena what this place was, why there were so many "pretty stones" everywhere.
Elena had knelt down to her level, voice gentle but strained, and explained that this was where people came to visit loved ones who'd gone to heaven.
"Like angels?" Lila had asked, eyes wide.
"Yes, baby. Like angels."
The answer had satisfied our daughter, and she'd fallen asleep in the car on the way down from the main gates, exhausted from the long flight and the emotional weight she didn't fully understand.
Now Elena stood alone before her mother's grave, shoulders rigid, one hand pressed to her mouth as if holding back a scream.
I wanted to go to her. Wanted to wrap my free arm around her and tell her she didn't have to face this alone. But I'd learned enough in the past few hours to know that pushing would only drive her further away.
So I stayed where I was, holding our daughter, and watched the woman I loved try to mourn a mother she couldn't remember.
The afternoon sun cut through the clouds in sharp, cold slices, and I noticed Elena shiver. She wasn't dressed for this weather—just the thin sweater and jeans she'd been wearing on the plane. I'd offered her my jacket before we left the car, but she'd refused with a shake of her head, that same stubborn tilt to her chin I remembered from before.
Before. When she'd been mine. When she'd looked at me with love instead of suspicion.
"I don't feel anything."
Her voice was so quiet I almost missed it. She hadn't turned around, was still staring at the headstone like she could will the memories to return through sheer force of will.
"I'm standing at my mother's grave," she continued, voice breaking, "and I don't feel anything. What kind of daughter does that make me?"
"Elena—"
"Don't." She held up a hand, cutting me off. "Don't tell me it's not my fault. Don't tell me the memories will come back. I don't want to hear it."
I shifted Lila's weight carefully, making sure she stayed asleep. "What do you want to hear?"
Elena finally turned to look at me, and the devastation in her eyes nearly brought me to my knees.
"I want you to tell me the truth," she said. "Did I love her? My mother—Josephine—did I love her?"
"More than anything." The words came out rough, scraped raw. "You talked about her all the time. How she took you in when no one else would, how she taught you to be strong, how she was the only person who ever made you feel like you belonged somewhere."
Elena's hand dropped to her side, fingers curling into a fist. "And she died thinking I was dead."
"Yes."
I wouldn't lie to her. Not about this.
"Because of Alexander." Her voice had gone flat, emotionless. "Because he kept me hidden on that island, made me believe I was someone I'm not."
"Yes."
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "And you expect me to believe you're any better? That you didn't do the same thing when we were married—kept me hidden?"
The accusation hit like a physical blow, but I couldn't deny it.
"You're right," I said quietly. "I did keep you hidden. I was ashamed of loving you when I thought I was supposed to love someone else. I made you feel like you weren't good enough, like you had to hide who you were to be with me." I paused, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "And I will regret that for the rest of my life."
Elena stared at me for a long moment, something flickering across her face that I couldn't quite read.
Then Lila stirred in my arms, making a small sound of distress.
"Mommy?" Her voice was sleepy, confused. "Where are we?"
Elena's entire demeanor shifted instantly, the raw grief replaced by maternal instinct. She crossed to us in three quick steps, reaching up to smooth Lila's hair.
"We're at a special place, sweetheart," she said softly. "Remember? Where the angels are."
Lila blinked up at me, then at Elena, then seemed to notice the rows of headstones for the first time. Her expression grew solemn.
"Is Grandma here?" she asked. "The one I never met?"
Elena's breath caught, and I saw her struggle to hold it together.
"Yes, baby. She's here."
"Can we say hello to her?"
I watched Elena's throat work as she swallowed hard. "Of course we can."
She took Lila from my arms—I let her go reluctantly, immediately missing the warm weight—and carried our daughter over to Josephine's grave. I followed a few steps behind, close enough to catch them if Elena stumbled, far enough to give them space.
Elena knelt down, settling Lila on her hip, and stared at the engraved name.
Josephine Marie Vance
Beloved Mother
1964 - 2020
"Hi, Grandma," Lila said brightly, with the easy acceptance of a four-year-old who didn't fully understand death. "I'm Lila. I'm your granddaughter."
Elena made a choked sound, and I saw her press her face against Lila's hair.
"Mommy says you're an angel now," Lila continued. "Do you have wings? I bet they're really pretty."
"Baby—" Elena's voice cracked. "We should—"
"Can you see us from heaven?" Lila asked, tilting her head. "Mommy says angels can see everything. Is that true?"
I couldn't take it anymore.
I moved forward, crouching beside them, and put my hand on Elena's shoulder. She didn't pull away this time.
"Your grandma loved your mommy very much," I said to Lila. "And if she could see you now, she'd be so proud of what a brave, smart, beautiful little girl you are."
Lila beamed at me. "Really?"
"Really."
Elena turned her head to look at me, tears streaming down her face, and for just a moment—just a heartbeat—I saw past the walls and the fear and the four years of lies Alexander had fed her.
A cold drop of water hit my cheek, and I looked up to see dark clouds rolling in fast, blotting out the weak afternoon sun.
"Rain," I muttered. "We should get back to the car."
Elena was already standing, Lila clutched tight against her chest. In the distance, I noticed the woman in black again—the same one I'd been watching warily earlier. But now, seeing her standing quietly beside another grave with her head bowed, I realized I'd probably been paranoid. She was likely just another mourner, lost in her own grief, paying respects to someone she'd loved and lost.
"Come on," I said, taking Elena's elbow gently. "Let's get out of this weather."