Christabel spread her mother's ashes.
Not in a cemetery.
In the garden.
Where she could see her every day.
Where she could finally say goodbye.
---
The box was heavier than she expected.
Wooden. Simple. The same box that had held her grandfather's letter. Now it held the remains of the woman who had given her life.
Christabel carried it to the garden.
The sun was setting.
The flowers were blooming.
The fountain was running.
Damien was behind her. Not beside her. Behind her. Close enough to catch her if she fell. Far enough to let her do this alone.
"You don't have to do this today," he said.
"I've been putting it off for a week."
"One more day won't matter."
"It matters to me."
---
She walked to the bench beneath the tree.
The same bench where she had sat with her mother years ago. Before the fighting. Before the leaving. Before everything fell apart.
She remembered that day.
She was twelve years old. Her mother was braiding her hair. Singing softly. The same lullaby she used to sing at bedtime.
"Sleep, my darling. Sleep, my love. The stars are watching from above."
"You used to sing that to me," Christabel whispered.
The box didn't answer.
"You used to hold me. Rock me. Tell me everything was going to be okay."
She opened the lid.
The ashes were gray. Soft. Almost beautiful in the fading light.
"You lied," Christabel said. "Everything wasn't okay. It fell apart. We fell apart. You fell apart."
---
Her hands were shaking.
Damien stepped closer.
"I'm right here."
"I know."
"You don't have to be strong."
"I don't know how to be anything else."
"Then be weak. Just for a moment. Just for her."
---
Christabel dipped her hand into the box.
The ashes were warm.
Or maybe that was her imagination.
She lifted her hand.
Let the ashes fall.
They drifted through the air like snow. Like dust. Like the last remnants of a woman who had once been everything.
"I remember your laugh," Christabel said. "It was loud. Uncontrolled. The kind of laugh that made everyone around you laugh too."
More ashes fell.
"I remember your cooking. Burnt toast. Runny eggs. You were terrible at it. But you tried. Every morning. You tried."
The wind picked up.
The ashes swirled.
"I remember the night you left. I was eighteen. I came home from college. Your room was empty. Your closet was empty. Your bathroom was empty."
Tears streamed down her face.
"I called your phone. It was disconnected. I called your friends. They hadn't heard from you. I called the police. They said you were probably on vacation."
She laughed.
The sound was broken.
"Vacation. You faked your death. And they thought you were on vacation."
---
Damien knelt beside her.
Took her free hand.
"Keep going."
"I don't know if I can."
"Yes, you can."
"I'm hurting."
"I know."
"I'm hurting so much."
"Then let it hurt. Don't run from it. Don't hide from it. Just feel it."
---
Christabel dipped her hand into the box again.
More ashes.
More memories.
"I remember the last time I saw you. Before the cemetery. Before the threats. Before everything."
She closed her eyes.
The memory was vivid. Painful. Beautiful.
She was sixteen. Her mother was standing in the doorway of her bedroom. Her suitcase was packed. Her coat was on.
"I'm leaving," her mother said.
"Where are you going?"
"Somewhere far away."
"When will you be back?"
Her mother didn't answer.
"Mom?"
"I love you, Christabel. Never forget that."
"I won't."
"No matter what happens. No matter what you hear. No matter what anyone tells you. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom."
Her mother walked out the door.
She never came back.
---
Christabel opened her eyes.
The ashes were almost gone.
"Why didn't you take me with you?" she asked. "Why did you leave me behind? Why wasn't I enough?"
The box didn't answer.
The wind didn't answer.
The flowers didn't answer.
But Damien did.
"You were enough," he said. "She was the one who wasn't."
"She was my mother."
"She was a woman who made terrible choices."
"She loved me."
"She loved herself more."
---
The last of the ashes fell.
Christabel closed the box.
Set it on the bench.
Stood.
Walked to the edge of the garden.
Looked out at the city.
"It's done," she said.
"It's done."
"I don't feel better."
"You don't have to feel better."
"Then what am I supposed to feel?"
He walked to her.
Stood beside her.
"Whatever you feel. There's no right way to do this."
---
She turned to face him.
Her eyes were red.
Her face was wet.
Her hands were empty.
"I'm angry," she said. "I'm so angry. At her. At myself. At the world."
"That's okay."
"I'm sad. I'm so sad I can't breathe."
"That's okay too."
"I'm relieved."
He touched her face.
"That's the most honest thing you've said."
"I'm relieved she's gone. I'm relieved I don't have to fight her anymore. I'm relieved I don't have to be afraid."
"That's not wrong."
"It feels wrong."
"It feels human."
---
She collapsed into his arms.
Sobbing.
Not the quiet tears.
The kind that came from somewhere deep.
Somewhere that had been hurting for years.
"Why did she leave me?" Christabel asked. "Why did she choose revenge over me? Why wasn't I enough?"
Damien held her tighter.
"You were enough. You were always enough. She was the one who couldn't see it."
"But I was her daughter."
"And she was blind."
---
They stood in the garden until the sun disappeared.
The stars came out.
One by one.
"She used to tell me that the stars were watching us," Christabel said. "That they were our ancestors. Our family. The people who loved us."
"Do you believe that?"
"I used to."
"And now?"
"Now I don't know what I believe."
"That's okay too."
---
Lena cried.
The sound drifted from the penthouse.
Christabel wiped her eyes.
Took a breath.
Walked inside.
---
Her daughter was in the nursery.
The nanny was holding her.
Christabel took Lena.
Pressed her face to her daughter's soft hair.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I'm not stronger. I'm sorry I'm not better. I'm sorry I'm not the mother you deserve."
Lena cooed.
"But I'm going to try. Every day. I'm going to try to be the mother you need. The mother I needed. The mother she couldn't be."
Lena grabbed her finger.
Held on tight.
"I'm going to be here. For you. For your father. For our family. I'm not going to leave. I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to disappear."
Lena smiled.
Christabel cried.
---
Damien appeared in the doorway.
"She's awake," he said.
"She's hungry."
"I'll make a bottle."
"She wants to nurse."
He walked to her.
Sat on the floor beside the rocking chair.
"How are you feeling?"
"Empty."
"Full?"
"Both."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It doesn't have to."
---
Lena finished nursing.
Fell asleep against Christabel's chest.
"She's out," Christabel said.
"She's perfect."
"She's ours."
Damien stood.
Took Lena from her arms.
Laid her in the crib.
Then he walked back to Christabel.
Took her hand.
"Come with me."
"Where?"
"The garden."
---
They sat on the bench beneath the tree.
The box was still there.
Empty now.
"Tomorrow," Christabel said, "I'm going to plant a flower. In her memory."
"What kind?"
"A rose. The same kind that grows here. The same kind you planted for me."
"Why a rose?"
"Because they're beautiful. Because they're fragile. Because they have thorns."
"Like her."
"Like me."
---
He pulled her close.
"She would be proud of you."
"She wouldn't."
"She would."
"You didn't know her."
"I know you." He kissed her forehead. "And you're the best of her. The parts that mattered. The parts that loved. The parts that stayed."
"I didn't stay."
"You're here now."
---
They stayed in the garden until the stars faded.
The sun rose.
Pink and gold.
"The first day without her," Christabel said.
"The first of many."
"It's going to be hard."
"It is."
"But I'm not alone."
"No."
"I have you."
"You have me."
"I have Lena."
"You have Lena."
"I have a family."
He took her hand.
"Yes," he said. "You do.