Chapter 72

Celia

Silence overtakes my body and mind. My once erratic heartbeat comes to a steady and slow beat, filling my ears as if it is white noise. It brings me only the smallest bit of comfort, though, and I am forced to listen to the scrapes of Soren’s shoes against the wooden stairs, slowly leaving the vicinity of Donna’s home. I hear the faint click of her wooden gate and close my eyes, a single tear rolling down my cheek.

My hand reaches for the doorknob. I have to stop myself from turning it as soon as my brain realizes what we are about to do. I freeze, unsure of what to do in this moment.

Should I chase after him? Should I throw myself into his arms and allow myself to feel the safety and security that he has offered to me so many times?

No…that would be a death wish, right? There are too many possibilities of me being hurt in the process and there are too many unknown factors in this whole situation with Bianca.

It leaves me feeling so disoriented, forever trapped in a constant haze of questions that have no answers. No answers that will bring me any kind of relief, that is.

I take a step back from the door and release the handle, holding my hand in the air as if it just committed a crime so gory that it shocks even the worst of criminals. I turn to look at it, swiveling around to walk deeper into the old woman’s house.

“Dear?” Donna’s voice rings out. I stop in my path and look up, noticing her standing on the stairs with a photo book in hand. “Are you okay?”

How can I even answer that question?

“Yes,” I weakly say, nodding to try and give off the impression that yes, I am indeed fine. I reach up and wipe away a tear that rolls down my cheek, looking away.

I listen as Donna walks down the stairs. She quietly approaches me and places her hand on my arm, gesturing to the living room that sits beside us.

“Come,” she gently says, “let’s sit.”

Donna and I enter the living room. She takes her spot in one of the chairs, grabbing the handle to lean backwards. I sit on the couch beside her and grab one of the many embroidered pillows, placing it onto my lap.

The tips of my fingers pick and pluck at the beads that are woven into the fabric of the pillow. They poke out and I am able to wiggle them around, using it as a distraction from the chaos that begins to ensue on the inside of my mind. My head hurts from the turmoil and I feel dizzy from the unlimited possibilities that lie before me.

“Twenty years ago, I decided to leave the Lycan pack,” Donna’s voice catches my attention. I pass my movement on the pillow but continue to twirl the bead around its piece of string. “I knew that my life there had ended for me and that I needed to get away before worse things could come.”

I scoot to the edge of my seat. Donna lets out a quiet sigh and opens up the book that lays in her lap. I tilt my head up to look at the contents.

It is a scrapbook filled with memories from Donna’s life twenty year ago. Some of the pictures are faded and are now a golden brown color, the corners weathered and worn. Some of the others look fresh and brand new after having been preserved for so long.

“My daughter gave birth to the most beautiful daughter I have ever seen. She was so cute and precious. She was the light in all of our lives,” Donna’s voice shakes. I reach out and place a hand on hers. She weakly smiles at me. “She reminds me of you.”

“She does?” I ask, already engrossed in the conversation. Donna nods. “Where is she now? Will I be able to meet her during my time here?”

“No, unfortunately you cannot,” Donna frowns. “She passed away when she just juts six years old. She was taken from us. A car crash.”

“Oh, Donna,” my heart drops in my chest, “I am so sorry.”

“Her mother fell sick soon after and left us too. I had to leave,” she nods her head while she speaks, remembering the painful past, “you can understand that, can’t you?”

“Yes! Of course,” I move to the edge of the couch.

“It was just me when I left. Me and my scrapbooks and clothes,” she chuckles. I smile. “When I crossed the border, I met this beautiful family.”

I fall silent. I know where this is going.

“A father, mother, daughter, and their grandmother,” Donna turns to look at me. I meet her gaze and weakly smile, my eyes stinging from tears. “They reminded me so much of what I once had.”

Donna falls silent. She lets out a quiet sigh, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments, before opening them up once again. She moves through the pages, heading towards the back. She shields my view from the photos, protective over them. I don’t blame her.

“The mother looked so much like my daughter and her daughter reminded me so much of Daisy,” there is pain inside of her voice but she fondly smiles.

“Your granddaughter’s name was Daisy?” I ask. Donna nods.

“She was as beautiful as the flower. When I saw that woman’s daughter, I felt the need to help them hide from the Lycan guards who came searching for them. I held their daughter in my arms, pretending as if she were my own.”

“You did?” I ask.

“Yes. Their daughter and I grew close to each other during our travels,” Donna finally turns the picture she holds in her hand around. She holds it out to me and I take it.

I look at the photo. Donna stands in the middle with a baby in her arms. At her side is my mother. They wear big smiles on their faces as they look down at me, holding a rattle in the air while I reach out for it.

“You remind me so much of your mother. She was a kind and pure soul. I helped you once back then…and I want to help you again,” Donna says.

I go to hand her back the photo but Donna shakes her head, pushing my hands back to my chest.

“You should go with that boy,” she says, “he seems genuine. Like he wants to change for the better all because of you and your influence.”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, looking down at the photo. Tears fall from my eyes, dripping onto the picture. I wipe them away. “It feels so…hard.”

“That’s what love is,” her voice is filled with so much warmth it is comforting, “love is not supposed to be easy. Love is a constant battle of ‘what ifs’ and thinking of the worst that can happen. But it heals all and it will heal you as your love as a baby healed me.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, looking up, “is this the right move for me?”

“My dear,” she leans forward, “only you have control of your future. You are the one who holds the pen in your hands. It is up to you and you only with what you choose to do with the blank paper in front of you.”