Altha felt something tighten in her chest. “What do you mean?” she asked. Sienna stepped aside. “Come see.” Altha walked in slowly. The warmth from the fireplace hit her first. Then the murmur of quiet conversation. And then she saw her. Sitting at the table. Calm. Safe. As if she had been there all along.
Her mother. For a moment, everything else faded. All the searching. All the fear. All the unanswered questions. Altha took a step forward, her voice trembling. “Ma?” Beatatrice looked up. Her expression was gentle but unfamiliar. She studied Altha for a second. Then gave a small, polite smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Do I know you?” Something inside Altha cracked. “What do you mean?” she said, her voice rising. “Of course you know me… it’s me.” She moved closer, panic creeping in. “Where were you? I’ve been looking everywhere. Why didn’t you call me? What happened?” But Beatatrice only looked at her… confused. As if none of it made sense.
