Present Day—Oregon
Layla was dead. She’d died with her father. Or had she?
Nothingness enveloped her, suffocating body and mind, stripping away her sense of being and replacing it with her parents’. Their memories played again and again. Layla couldn’t shut them out or let anything else in, so she repeatedly witnessed her mom and dad meet, bond, then continue down a path of pure love and saddening destruction, culminating in the ultimate sacrifice—death.
The memories abruptly ceased, suspending Layla in a dark pool of unattached realization where she dissected and retained the facts like a thirsty scientist. Then the nothingness crept away, leaving a disaster in its wake.
Layla’s lungs expanded, her fingers and toes awakened, and her wounded heart echoed in her eardrums. A sorrowful wail bubbled in her swollen throat, growing louder as emotional turmoil—a pain as physical as any she’d ever felt—gripped and squeezed, pulling her into a ball.
“No!” She wanted to go back to the nothingness. The pain of reality was too much, breaking her down and grinding the pieces to dust.
She clawed at her heart, trying to rip the agonizing organ from her chest, but a large hand encircled her wrist, pulling her frantic fingernails away. She gasped, appendages flinging out as her eyes popped open, wet and disoriented. Then warm air floated over her left cheek.
“It’s okay, Layla. You’re safe.”
“Quin,” she sobbed, curling into his chest. “Oh, god . . .”
Quin wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, but she barely felt it. The sorrow squeezed so much harder.
Her cries grew louder as her body cringed, at the mercy of unrelenting emotion. So many emotions—overwhelming awe at how deeply her parents loved her; unbearable grief for the sacrifices they made to keep her safe; utter sadness for the way things turned out; and love . . . heart-gripping love for the people who’d given her life, the mom and dad she never knew. Love for the parents who were gone. Dead.
“Oh, god,” she whimpered. “They were perfect . . . and I’ll never know what it’s like . . . to touch them and to let them touch me.”
Regret churned her stomach, throbbing her aching head and heart. She’d been harboring anger about her adoption—resentment toward her father and the disconnect she felt with her mother. Now the anger rebounded, smothering her in remorse, punishing her for daring to disrespect those who had blessed her with breath before forfeiting their own. And atonement was nowhere in sight. She’d never be able to look at her parents and tell them how much she loved them, how much their devotion meant to her. After everything they went through, they deserved to know—to hear it from their daughter’s lips that their undying love touched her; that she felt it pulse in her broken heart and course through her thriving veins. They hadn’t abandoned her; they’d saved her, and she’d give anything to let them know she understood the enormity of their sacrifice.
She sobbed harder, shoulders shaking. Then her ears started humming as her mom’s wedding ring quivered, expelling waves of vibrations up her arm. She opened her eyes, shocked and confused. Then a cooling sensation washed over fluctuating flesh, melting her tense muscles.
Quin’s shirt slipped from her grip, and he leaned back, running his bewildered gaze from her head to her toes. Layla looked down as well, and only then did she realize she was glowing. And singing! The humming wasn’t in her ears, but all around her, flowing from the ethereal mist that poured from the ring and blanketed her body.
Salty moisture blurred the beautiful sight, so Layla closed her eyes, sliding her vibrating hand to her chest. When the ring found her heart, warm affection and tranquility flooded her senses, and she unfurled, losing herself in the magic.
For a splendid moment in time, her broken heart and its aching shell vanished, and she was merely a soul, blissfully floating in her parents’ love. She could feel them as clearly as she felt anything else. They were more real than the bed beneath her. And while they didn’t speak, she could hear them. The mesmerizing mist and its magical message told her more than words could portray. Furthermore, if she could feel them, receive their message, surely they could feel her.
True or not, it brought Layla peace to believe it, to imagine her parents floating in her soul, absorbing all the love and appreciation she had to give, taking sublime comfort in knowing their hopes for their daughter had come true—she remained safe from wicked magicians and had found her family.
While Layla drifted on hope and love, as peaceful as a sleeping angel swaddled in fluffy clouds, she vowed to live her life in a way that would never forsake her parents’ sacrifices. They’d given her a gift beyond measure. No longer would she spend it in a rut. She’d find at least one thing to be thankful for every day, and she’d recall the undying love that paved her way.
Rhosewen’s ring stopped vibrating, the heavenly hum faded, and the feel-good magic ebbed, returning Layla to her liquid body, but she didn’t move or open her eyes. She just lay there with her hand over heart as silent tears streamed down her temples.
Despite her new lease on life and her vow to appreciate it, the emotional pain returned the moment the magic departed. Not even the strongest spells could make her forget the affectionate expression her mom wore when her heart burst with love, or the sorrowful and sweet goodbye her dad had given her before dying in a flash of agony. Those memories and many more would always be with her, and they would always hurt.
Layla knew the permanence of loss well. The day after Katherine’s passing, as she’d rocked in an old recliner that smelled of memories, Layla had realized with certainty that death was final, that no amount of wishing, hoping or praying could reverse what doctors could not. If ever she held faith, she’d lost it that day—the day she realized Katherine was gone, never to return, and she was alone, stuck in a world with no one to love.
Now, as she lay mourning those who’d given her life, realizing with certainty that they were gone, never to return, the hopelessness once again threatened to engulf her, to strip away any trace of faith she’d managed to retain. But this time Layla had something she’d lacked before. She had a family—a beautiful and kind family. No longer was she alone with no one to love.
She swallowed a lump and opened her eyes, finding her first reason to be thankful. Exquisitely stretched out beside her, his chest unobstructed and perfect for cuddling, Quin searched her face, his dark gaze shiny and deep.
“Hey,” he whispered, playing with one of her curls.
Layla tried to say hey back, but her throat was swollen shut.
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
She shook her head no, jarring more tears from her lids, and Quin reached over, softly wiping the moisture away. His tender touch intensified the emotions plucking on her raw heartstrings, and she turned her face into his hand, bursting into more sobs.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, making a slobbery mess of his palm.
“Don’t be,” he replied, sliding his free hand under her head. Then he curled her into a ball and pulled her close, tucking her into his chest.
Layla continued to struggle with a never-ending supply of tears, but Quin’s alluring scent, strong heartbeat, and firm embrace cuddled her like a cozy cocoon, keeping her safe and warm as she mourned her old life and embraced the new—a life full of magic, family, and if she was really lucky . . . Quin.