When Her "Death" Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel)

If Alphonse and Bethany knew about the illness, the family could have pulled their chairs closer, sharing soup, stories, and the final slow sunsets.

But life rarely grants do-overs, and fate never rewinds the reel.

The days in Drocver blurred-flowers ordered, eulogies written, earth turned. After the final hymn drifted over the fresh mound, Cecilia lingered before the granite headstone. Footsteps crunched behind her, and Jonas-black suit crisp, eyes kind-extended a sealed envelope edged in silver.

"Ms. Smith, your mother asked that this reach only your hands," he said.

Cecilia accepted the envelope with trembling fingers, slit it open, and unfolded the single sheet. Queenie's looping script swam before her eyes.

"Ceci, my darling girl, I'm sorry. I wanted so badly to give you more time with me, but my hourglass ran empty. Perhaps this is justice for the mistakes I made once power dulled my conscience. I nearly cost you and Jon your lives, and the shame gnaws at me every dawn. You were right: had you not been my daughter, I might never have recognized my own sin. Forgive me, Ceci-truly, forgive me. To atone, I asked Scorpius to build orphan charities across the country. May those children find the safety I failed to give you. If any mercy remains in heaven, let it keep you and my grandchildren safe."

When Cecilia reached the last line, grief welled so fiercely she could scarcely breathe. She brushed her thumb across the indigo ink, tracing each curve of the handwriting the way one might memorize a loved one's face in the dark.

"Mom," she whispered, voice catching on the winter air, "you carried this guilt all the way to the end."

A mother who once wanted her child dead would struggle to pardon herself— Cecilia knew that truth. If she were in Queenie's shoes, she would feel the same.

with reverence, tucked it inside her coat, and lifted her

forgave you long ago, and

all, no one is perfect. Who among the living can swear

"Ms. Smith,

warned her not to block

Queenie had insisted, could that restless man ever quiet the

calm but edged with finality. She gave a small nod that closed the subject the way

for the waiting car. Once inside, Nathaniel draped a coat over her shoulders with the care

catch a

The syllable was soft, almost absent, but it carried

rear-view mirror, holding her mother's

distance did she let her eyes

Alphonse and Bethany had waited all afternoon for Cecilia's return, ordering the kitchen to cover the long oak table with comfort food and gentle

etched in her own eyes, yet her smile reserved solely for the

sat between the