Chapter 214 Her mother’s room cont.

Chapter 214: Chapter 214 Her mother’s room cont.

Talia’s POV

Grandfather Aldric nodded. "Of course, child. You can see."

I smiled gratefully, bowed and walked out of the room.

I walked through the hallways, following his directions, and each step felt heavier than the last, as my heart was pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears. I was about to see where my mother had stayed, and to feel her presence in a way I had never been able to before.

The path was quiet, and the torches flickered low. I passed the old library, and I turned down a narrow corridor I had never noticed before.

The door was at the end, old and worn, with a handle that had not been touched in years.

I reached out and touched it, and I could feel the dust beneath my fingers. It was so obvious that it had been so long since anyone had opened this door, and so long since anyone had stepped inside.

I hesitated for a moment, and I took a breath, then I pushed the door open.

The room was just as Grandfather described, that my mother had left it in.

The faded curtains were drawn halfway, allowing a single shaft of pale light to fall across the wooden floor, illuminating the dust that had settled in a thin layer over every surface, and I could see the faint outline of where a rug had once sat, now nothing more than a lighter rectangle on the worn boards.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in. The dust motes floated in the pale light, and the air was still, and heavy with the weight of years.

There was a bed with faded blankets, a wooden chair by the window, and a small desk with a worn-out book on it. The air smelled faintly of lavender, which was my mother’s scent.

I closed my eyes and breathed it in, letting it fill my lungs and my heart. It was like she was standing right beside me, with her hand on my shoulder, and her voice in my ear.

I could almost hear her whispering my name, the way she used to when I was small, and scared. And she would kneel down beside my bed, brushing the hair from my forehead and, promising me that everything would be alright, even when she must have known that it would not be.

I walked to the bed and sat down. I touched the blanket, and I felt the tears prick at my eyes.

The fabric was soft and faded, and worn thin by time, and lack of use. I could imagine her sitting here, reading, dreaming, and hoping for a future that had never come.

I remembered my mother’s face, her voice, and her smile. I remembered the way she used to hum while she worked.

That melody had followed me through every dark moment of my life, surfacing in my memory when I was most afraid, and I had never known where it came from until now that I was standing in this room that still held the echo of her presence.

I realized it had been her gift to me, and a piece of her that no one could ever take away.

I could still hear the melody in my mind, soft and sweet, like a lullaby that had never been forgotten. She had hummed it while she cooked, while she cleaned, and while she tucked me into bed at night.

And the way she would hold my hand when I was scared, that I could never forget.

I lay down on the bed, and I let myself cry.

The tears came freely, and I did not try to stop them. I had held them in for so long, pushed them down and buried them deep. But here, in this room, I could let them go.

I cried for the mother I had lost, for the years we had been apart, and for the hope that she might still be alive.

I do not know how long I stayed there. But when I finally sat up, I wiped my tears and I stood up.

I would find her, and I would bring her home.

The words felt like a promise, and a vow that I would not break. I had come so far, and I would not stop now. I would find my mother, and I would bring her home.

I walked back to my room, with my heart heavy but my resolve stronger. I was still crying when I entered, and I sat on the edge of the bed, letting the tears fall.

The tears streaked down my cheeks and dropped onto my hands, warm and salty, and I let them fall without shame because these were not tears of weakness or fear, they were tears of love for a mother I barely remembered, and grief, for all the years we had lost.

But beneath it all, they were also tears of hope, because for the first time in fifteen years, I truly believed I would see her again.

I was feeling so grateful for how much closure I had been getting for the past few days. I felt lucky to have seen her room, and to have felt her presence. And now, more than ever, I was determined to find her.