Chapter 55 A Step Into the Unknown
BELLA
“I’m just worried about you, Bella,” Elowen’s voice crackled through the phone, softer now, almost pleading. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re my friend. I just… I want the best for you.”
I stared out the window, watching the trees blur past. Her words hung in the air, heavy with something unspoken. I wanted to believe her God, I wanted to believe her but something didn’t sit right. She’s my best friend, my sister in every way but blood. We’ve been through everything together. She even walked away from her wealthy family to live an ordinary life with me.
I took a slow breath, forcing calm into my voice. “It’s okay, Elos. I won’t go any further if it makes you uncomfortable. I know you’re just looking out for me. That’s what friends are for, right?”
A pause. Then, “I’m sorry, Bels. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I’ll head home.”
I ended the call, the weight of her words pressing down on my chest.
“Ma’am, are we going back home?” the driver asked, catching my gaze in the rearview mirror.
I hesitated, the lie already forming on my tongue. “No. Keep going.”
I clenched my hands in my lap, the leather of my seat cool against my palms. I have to know. I have to find out who my parents are.
Elowen’s concern lingered in my mind. She never sounded like that before worried, yes, but this was different. There was something else. Something she wasn’t telling me.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting the hum of the car settle my nerves. Trusting her felt like second nature, but now… now I wasn’t so sure.
“Ma’am, we’ve arrived,” the driver announced, pulling me back to the present.
I stepped out, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and old memories. My father’s house stood before me, once full of life and laughter, now worn and silent. The peeling paint and overgrown garden mirrored how long it had been since I last came here.
I walked inside, my footsteps echoing in the quiet. Every creak of the floorboards whispered of forgotten moments, a life I had taken for granted.
The drawer in my father’s room slid open with a reluctant groan. Inside, tucked beneath a layer of old papers, was the necklace. I held it up, the cool metal pressing against my skin. The symbol engraved on it was unfamiliar, intricate yet strange, like a secret waiting to be uncovered.
Beside it lay the first clothes I ever wore tiny, fragile, like a remnant of a life I barely remember.
I clenched the necklace in my fist. This is my link to the truth. My father kept it all these years. It means something.
As I left the house, I glanced back once, the past tugging at me like a ghost I couldn’t shake. “Take me back to the mansion,” I told the driver.
The ride back felt endless. My fingers traced the symbol on the pendant, trying to decode its meaning.
I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the necklace, sending it to David.
His reply was swift: “I’ve seen this symbol before. There’s a museum I visited once. We might find something there.”
My heart quickened. For the first time, hope flickered.
I tightened my grip on the necklace. Maybe this is it. Maybe I’m finally going to find out who I really am.