Chapter 186

Agnes

I hesitated for a moment before sliding into the chair across from Elijah. The solemn expression on his face made my stomach clench with anxiety. This wasn’t a romantic dinner date, was it?

“Is everything alright?”

Elijah didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just signaled to the waiter, who approached our table immediately.

“A glass of the Cabernet for my wife, please,” he said, giving the waiter a tight smile. When the man left, Elijah took a long sip of his own wine, his eyes never leaving my face.

“Elijah,” I pressed, “what’s going on?”

“Drink first,” he said, nodding toward the glass of red wine the waiter had just placed in front of me. “Trust me on this.”

My heart started hammering in my chest. Whatever news he had, it was serious enough that he thought I needed alcohol to cushion the blow. I picked up the wine and took a small sip, then a larger one when I realized how dry my mouth had become.

“Just tell me,” I said once I set the glass down. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Elijah reached across the table, taking both of my hands in his. His palms were warm against my skin, a sensation that would normally comfort me but now only heightened my anxiety.

“The DNA results came back today,” he said quietly. “Both sets.”

I froze, suddenly understanding the reason for his grim expression. The DNA tests that would confirm whether Thea was Olivia’s biological daughter, and whether the bones we’d found in the cave belonged to my missing Isabella.

“And?”

“Olivia is Thea’s biological mother,” Elijah said firmly. “And the bones… They tested them against your DNA sample, and they matched. The bones belonged to Isabella. Your daughter.”

Even though I’d been bracing for it, the confirmation hit me like a punch to the gut. I lowered my head, staring blindly at our joined hands as I tried to process the finality of it. Isabella was dead. Had been dead for years, while I’d been searching, hoping, refusing to give up.

And Thea was indeed Olivia’s biological child. Not mine, although I’d allowed myself to wonder, to hope, after her strange nightmare about being stolen as a baby.

“I expected this,” I admitted, my voice barely audible above the restaurant’s ambient noise. “But it still hurts.”

“I know,” Elijah said, squeezing my hands gently. “I’m sorry, Agnes. I wish the results had been different.”

Gently prying my hands from his, I took another sip of wine as if that could somehow ground me. “How are we going to tell Thea? She’s going to be devastated that she’s actually related to Olivia.”

Elijah sighed. “We’ll tell her together, carefully. She’s a resilient kid, and she has us both to support her through this.” He hesitated, eyeing me as my fingers trembled around the stem of my wine glass, then said softly, “Olivia may have given birth to her, but you’re the one who’s been there for her, who’s loved her and cared for her. You’re her true mother, Agnes. I hope you both know that.”

I nodded, taking comfort in his words. It was a strange feeling, mourning a child I’d already been grieving for seven years. Different, somehow, now that I knew for absolute certain that Isabella was gone. That there was no chance of her walking through my door one day, all grown up with questions about where she’d been and why I hadn’t found her.

Elijah cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to him. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he said carefully. “Something I think you need to consider.”

“What is it?”

“I think it’s time for you to hold a funeral for Isabella.”

The suggestion was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. A funeral. A final acknowledgment that my baby girl was dead and never coming back.

“I don’t… I can’t…” I stuttered, unable to choke out more words.

“Agnes, listen to me.” Elijah leaned forward and took my hands again, and I realized my palms had begun to sweat. “You’ve been running from your grief for seven years. You threw yourself into searching for her, then into your work, and now into figuring out…” He gestured to the burn marks on my hands, healed enough to not hurt but still slightly marked. “But you haven’t allowed yourself to truly grieve.”

“That’s not true,” I protested weakly. “I grieved. I’ve done nothing but grieve.”

“You’ve felt the pain, yes. But you haven’t processed it, haven’t accepted it. You’ve been holding on to hope, refusing to let go of the possibility that she might still be alive somewhere. That she might have been Thea all along.”

I bit my lip. I couldn’t deny it. Even after we’d found the bones, some small part of me had clung to the idea that they might not be Isabella’s. That there had been some mistake. The DNA results erased that possibility completely.

“I think having a proper funeral would help you,” Elijah continued softly. “A way to say goodbye, to lay her to rest, to honor her memory and finally allow yourself to move forward.”

My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. The thought of standing over a tiny casket with a torn bunny and a few bones in it, of watching it lowered into the ground, was almost unbearable.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“You can,” Elijah assured me.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you won’t be alone this time.”

My stomach twisted. He was right, of course; I had been alone the first time—alone and broken, abandoned by everyone who should have supported me, including my own father. I wasn’t anymore, though. I had him, and Thea, and Gertrude and Evelyn…

“I’ll be right beside you,” Elijah promised. “And Thea, too. You have a family that loves you now, Agnes. You’re safe to grieve without falling apart, because we’ll be there to hold you up.”

The tears I’d been fighting spilled over then, rolling silently down my cheeks. Elijah reached across the table, gently wiping them away.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he said. “But think about it. For Isabella’s sake, and for your own.”

Nodding, I picked up my wine glass with my free hand, taking a larger sip this time as I tried to compose myself. Around us, the restaurant continued its normal evening service—waiters gliding between tables, customers chatting and laughing, glasses clinking.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I admitted. “I’ve never arranged a funeral before.”

“I’ll help you,” Elijah said. “We can make it as simple or as elaborate as you want. Whatever would honor her memory best.”

Honor her memory. The phrase echoed in my mind. Isabella had never had the chance to create memories, to build a life that could be honored. All she’d had was a few precious weeks in my arms before she was stolen away.

The funeral wouldn’t be about honoring a life lived; it would be about mourning a life that never got to unfold, about acknowledging the brutal reality that I would never see her first steps, hear her first words, watch her grow into a beautiful young woman.

“I named the foundation after her,” I said suddenly. “That’s a way to honor her, isn’t it? To help prevent other families from going through what we did.”

“It is,” Elijah agreed. “And it’s a beautiful tribute. But it’s not the same as properly saying goodbye, Agnes.”

He was right. I knew he was. The foundation was a way to channel my grief into something productive, something that might help others. But it wasn’t a replacement for the ritual of mourning, for the closure that comes with laying a loved one to rest.

“It’s time, Agnes,” Elijah said gently. “Time to let her go. To lay Isabella to rest.”

I stared at my plate, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. The thought of saying a final goodbye to the daughter I’d barely known tore at me in ways I couldn’t articulate. It felt like failing her somehow, like giving up, like admitting that I hadn’t been enough to save her.

But even as those thoughts swirled through my mind, I knew Elijah was right. It was time. Time to acknowledge that Isabella was gone, that no amount of searching or hoping would bring her back.

Time to give her the peace she deserved, and maybe find some for myself in the process.