Chapter 199

Agnes

Once we looked at least somewhat presentable, we headed upstairs, Elijah locking the door behind us with the security code. A few workers were still bustling around the house, putting finishing touches on various rooms.

James wasn’t inside. We found him waiting in the garden, standing beneath one of the maple trees that lined the property’s edge. My stomach clenched at the sight of him. He was too far away for me to read his expression, but his posture was stiff, like he was holding back.

James nodded as we approached. “Alpha. Luna. Thank you for coming quickly.”

“What’s going on?” Elijah asked.

James glanced toward the house where workers were still visible through the windows. “Let’s walk,” he suggested, gesturing toward the path that wound through the garden.

We followed him, moving away from the house and the curious ears of the construction crew. The farther we went, the more the sounds of hammering and power tools faded, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and distant birdsong.

When we were far enough away, James stopped and turned to face us. “You have mail,” he said, reaching into his jacket. “It was delivered just now.”

My breath caught as he pulled out a thick manila envelope. The return address was partially visible, and I immediately recognized the symbol printed in the corner—a stylized double helix.

The DNA testing center from a few packs over.

Elijah’s hand tightened around mine. “You could have just called us,” he said.

“I thought you might want to see it for yourself,” James replied, handing the envelope to Elijah. His expression gave nothing away, but his eyes were kind. “I’ll give you some space.”

As James walked back toward the house, I stared at the envelope in Elijah’s hands. This was it. The moment of truth. After weeks of uncertainty, of being too afraid to hold onto hope, we were about to find out if Olivia had been telling the truth.

“Should we open it here?” I asked.

Elijah nodded, leading me to a stone bench beneath a flowering cherry tree. We sat down together, and my heart was pounding a mile a minute as Elijah broke the seal and pulled out a thick packet of papers.

He unfolded them carefully, holding them so we could both read.

It took me a moment to find the part that mattered, buried amidst paragraphs of explanations about methodology and statistical significance. But there it was, highlighted in yellow:

Probability of Parentage: 100%

The world seemed to stop. I read the line again, then another time, then a third time, certain I’d misunderstood, but the words remained unchanged. I pinched my arm so hard I was pretty sure I drew blood, but I didn’t wake up from some kind of dream. I counted my fingers just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

But I wasn’t.

Thea was our daughter. Mine and Elijah’s. The test confirmed it beyond any reasonable doubt.

“Agnes,” Elijah breathed, his finger tracing the highlighted section. “It’s true. She’s ours.”

A sound escaped me—half laugh, half sob. After seven years of searching, of grief and pain, the truth was finally here in black and white.

The child I’d been mourning had been with me all along, sleeping in my house, calling me “Mommy,” holding my hand and telling me stories. I’d taken her on family vacations, watched her play at violin recitals, fixed her hair mishaps and wiped tears from her face.

All of it. I’d been there for all of it.

Or at least, the past year’s worth of it, which was all that mattered right now.

My body went weak, and if I hadn’t already been sitting, I would have collapsed. Elijah caught me anyway, dropping the envelope and wrapping his arms around me.

“She’s ours,” I repeated, the words still not feeling real. “All this time, I’ve been raising my own daughter without knowing it.”

It was unbelievable. I’d pushed away my intuition that Thea was mine when those initial test results said she wasn’t. I’d tried to shove that feeling of familiarity out of my mind, had forced myself to believe that Thea wasn’t my missing daughter.

But she was. I had been right all along. And Elijah… Elijah was the man I’d made love to that night, seven years ago. My mate.

“We have to tell her,” I said, pulling back to look at Elijah. “On her birthday, like we planned.”

“Two more days,” he agreed, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Goddess, Agnes, I can’t believe it. All this time...”

Pure joy bubbled up inside of me, and suddenly I was laughing through my tears. Elijah joined in, standing and pulling me to my feet. In one swift motion, he lifted me off the ground, spinning me in a circle as we both laughed like lunatics.

“She’s ours!” he shouted, not caring who might hear. “Our daughter!”

When he set me down, I was dizzy, but not just from the spinning. The relief, the happiness, the sheer magnitude of what we’d discovered—it was all making my head swim deliciously.

I wanted to savor this feeling, bottle it up and inhale it whenever I needed a high. I never wanted to feel any other way than I felt now. I could die in this moment and die deliriously happy, without a single care in the world.

“I knew it,” I said, shaking my head in wonder. “From that first moment I saw her, there was a connection. I should have held onto that belief. I should have kept pushing.”

I remembered all the moments when I’d felt drawn to her, protective of her, connected to her in a way I couldn’t explain. How natural it had felt to step into the role of her mother, even when I believed she was Olivia’s child.

The birthmark, the poison ivy…

All of it made so much sense now. So much beautiful, ridiculous, miraculous sense.

“We need to look at the other test results,” I suddenly said, turning back to the papers. “The ones from the bones.”

Elijah sifted through the documents until he found the second report. It was shorter than the first, but the conclusion was equally clear: the bones did not match my DNA. But they matched Olivia’s.

The revelation dimmed my happiness slightly, replacing some of the joy with something more complicated. I glanced toward the willow tree visible in the distance, where the small grave lay.

Despite everything Olivia had done, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. She had lost her baby. She had run away in fear of her child being murdered, had given birth alone in a cave, only to have the child be stillborn. I couldn’t imagine the trauma of that experience.

It didn’t excuse her actions, not by a long shot. But it helped me understand them a little better.

And if I had been in her position…

I supposed I had been in her position, or at least, something similar to it—alone and scared, desperate and devastated, broken and hurt…

I might have resorted to drastic measures, too.

Two hours later, I found myself walking down the cold hallway of the prison’s visiting area with a small tray in my hands. The guard ahead of me unlocked a heavy door, gesturing for me to enter.

“Welcome, Luna Agnes.”

I nodded to him without saying a word.

“Fifteen minutes, just as you requested,” he said curtly. “Call if you need anything.”

I pursed my lips, taking a deep breath to steel myself, then stepped into the cell. It was sparse but not inhumane—a bed, a sink, a small desk with a chair, some books and other things to keep her busy.

Olivia was sitting on the bed, but she jumped to her feet when she saw me, pressing herself against the far wall as if expecting me to attack her.

Her appearance shocked me. Her hair was its natural color now, her face free of makeup. She looked younger, more vulnerable, and thoroughly frightened. Frightened of me.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Come to gloat? Or perhaps get your revenge?”

I set the tray down on the desk. It held a teapot, two cups, and a small plate of cookies I’d picked up from the bakery on the way. I gestured to the tray and said quietly, “Would you like to talk?”