Chapter Ninety-Seven – Echoes of the Past

Chapter Ninety-Seven – Echoes of the Past
I didn’t tell Kade where I was going.

Not because I was hiding.

But because some things—some ghosts—needed to be faced alone.

I left at dawn, wrapped in my thickest cloak, the frost still fresh on the earth, the sky just beginning to bleed from indigo into gray. I packed nothing but a satchel with a single flower and the stone I’d carved with my mother’s name. It had taken me weeks to smooth its surface, weeks more to decide what to write.

I didn’t want it to be long.

Just her name.

And mine.

So that if anyone ever found it, they’d know—

She mattered.

She lived.

And I was hers.

The path to her burial place was hidden, nearly lost to the wild.

It was just beyond the old river bend, where the water used to run thick and cold and fast—before the dam broke, before the land dried and cracked. I remembered her voice as we walked that trail when I was small.

Follow the birches, Lyra. The white trees know the way.

I followed them now.

And they did.

The clearing opened like a secret, rimmed in soft moss, still untouched after all these years. There were no markings. No stones. Just a place of silence. Of memory.

Of her.

I dropped to my knees, fingers sinking into the frost-dusted ground.

“Hi, Mama.”

The words felt strange on my tongue—like it had been too long, or maybe not long enough.

“I should’ve come sooner.”

I placed the stone at the base of a root. It wasn’t much. But it was something. A name, carved with love, set into earth that had always been hers.

I sat back on my heels and let the wind speak first.

Let it tell the stories of seasons that had passed without her.

Then I spoke.

“I used to think I failed you.”

My voice shook. I didn’t stop.

“I thought if I had done more—fought harder—you’d still be here. That maybe if I’d been stronger, faster, louder… you wouldn’t have had to carry so much alone.”

I dug my fingers into the earth.

“I watched you die with dignity. And for a long time, I thought that meant I had to live without softness. That strength meant silence. That survival meant sacrifice.”

I swallowed.

“I was wrong.”

The wind slowed. The light shifted.

And I felt her there—not in the way of ghosts or whispers, but in the warmth that settled behind my ribs. In the sudden stillness of my hands. In the way my breath slowed, easy and full.

“I want you to know,” I said quietly, “I’m happy.”

A tear slipped down my cheek.

“I found someone who sees me. I built a home. And there's a little boy with a fox-shaped carving in his pocket who calls my stories his favorite.”

I smiled, even through the tears. “I think you would’ve liked him.”

I pressed my palm to the stone, the cool weight of it grounding me.

“I love you. And I forgive you. And I hope—wherever you are—you forgive me, too.”

The wind picked up again.

But it wasn’t cruel.

It was kind.

It brushed my hair from my face like fingers I almost remembered.

And I knew.

She had never asked me to carry the guilt.

I had done that to myself.

But today—

I was done.

I stayed a while longer.

Told her about Kade. About the rogue camp. About Selene’s rise and Crescent Moon’s healing. I told her about the fire-forged rings and the tea Kade still hadn’t learned how to steep properly. About the apple tree we planned to plant come spring.

And when the sun rose higher, and the light spilled golden over the birch bark—

I stood.

And left my grief behind.

Not because I’d stopped loving her.

But because I had learned how to love myself.

Kade was chopping wood when I returned.

Finn was on the porch, carving something into a scrap of bark.

When they saw me, they both stilled.

I walked straight into Kade’s arms.

He didn’t ask.

He just held me.

And I whispered against his chest, “I’m okay.”

He kissed the top of my head. “You look lighter.”

“I am.”

Finn tugged my sleeve. “Did you see her?”

I crouched beside him, smiled softly. “In a way.”

He nodded, satisfied.

We went inside together, the fire still warm, the cottage still humming with the quiet kind of peace we’d learned to call our own.

And for the first time in years, I breathed—

fully,

deeply,

free.

Because the past no longer owned me.

And the future?

It was mine to claim.