Chapter 18

"Mom, why do you—"

Fae Aurora immediately approached me, then signaled for me to be quiet and to start eating my food. I was initially stunned, not expecting her to make such an effort. It was our first time.

I couldn't help but stare at her as she moved around the kitchen with ease.

"Mom, are you okay?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.

She sighed and turned to face me, placing a hand on my palm.

"Sweetie, I'm okay. I'm doing this for you because I've never done it before." Her voice carried a mix of uncertainty and resolve, an echo of a past filled with untold stories and unshared moments.

"Why all of a sudden, Mom? I'm used to it, I can do it myself." I squeezed Fae Aurora's hand.

"It's precisely because you're all grown up that I'm afraid I might be too late to do it, Barbara." Fae Aurora's expression shifted.

Fae Aurora's eyes held a distant glimmer as she spoke,

"Life is fleeting, Barbara. I've watched you grow, become independent, and I realized… I've missed so many moments. I don't want to miss any more."

She paused, her gaze now firmly on me. "Cooking for you, being here with you, it's my way of making up for lost time."

I nodded, understanding her sentiment. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of spices and warmth, a stark contrast to the coldness that had often lingered between us.

"I appreciate it, Mom. It means a lot," I said, my voice softening.

As we sat down to eat, the room was silent except for the clinking of our cutlery. With each bite, it felt as if we were bridging the gap that time had created.

It was a simple meal, but it was more than just food; it was a gesture of love, a silent promise of new beginnings.

After dinner, Fae Aurora pulled out an old photo album from a shelf.

"Let's fill this with new memories," she suggested, a hopeful smile curving her lips.

"I'm fine, mom. Really. I never felt so upset because you were never around during my childhood." I mumbled.

I hoped that my mom would understand how much her absence has affected me. Growing up without a mother figure was tough, but I've learned to cope with it.

However, there are still moments when I feel envious of my friends who have a close relationship with their mothers. They share stories of shopping trips, cooking together, and even just having a heart-to-heart conversation. I never had that with my mom.

But as I grew older, I realized that it wasn't entirely her fault. My mom was a Fae and Alpha Drake hate her so much so she fleed away. She didn't have the luxury of spending quality time with me like other mothers did.

I learned to appreciate her sacrifices and understood that she was doing the best she could. And even though we didn't have a traditional mother-daughter relationship, I know that my mom loves me in her own way.

"I adore you so much," murmured Fae Aurora.

Gently taking her hands in mine, I whispered, "I know, mom. And I love you, too. I've come to realize that love isn't measured by the time spent together, but by the strength of the bond we share." In that moment, I decided to make a grand gesture to show my love and appreciation for her.

I embraced Fae Aurora tightly, feeling the warmth of the connection that had braved so much distance and time. It was a moment of healing, a small patch over a wound that had been left open for too long. But as we stood there, lost in the moment, the chamber's door suddenly creaked open. Our peaceful reunion was abruptly interrupted, leaving a tense silence in its wake.

Timothee's entrance was as quiet as a whisper, but the sudden cessation of whispers made it thunderous. He stood frozen, eyes wide as they flickered between Fae Aurora and me.

A blush crept upon his cheeks, painting a vivid picture of his discomfort. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, as if seeking some guidance on how to react.

"Uh, I– I didn't mean to interrupt," he stammered, his voice cracking in the middle, betraying his attempt at composure.

The awkwardness hung heavily in the room, a tangible fog that seemed to envelop him more with each passing second.

Timothee shifted awkwardly from one foot to another, evidently torn between the desire to retreat and the courtesy of waiting for an acknowledgment.

A battle of emotions ensued within me, a desperate attempt to suppress the bubbling laughter that threatened to erupt at the sight.

The Lycan, notorious for his fearsome presence, had moments ago exuded an air of invincibility.

But now, caught in this unguarded moment of clumsiness, he appeared almost...endearing.

The sight was so incongruous with his fearsome reputation that it became comical.

A struggle played out on my face, a tight-lipped attempt to hold back the laughter, my shoulders shaking with silent mirth.

"You know, Timothee, for someone who's rumored to be the 'Terror of the Night', today you're more like the 'Toddler of the Day'." My words, playful and light, floated between us, carried by an undercurrent of camaraderie and an unexpected hint of fondness.

Timothee's cheeks flushed a vibrant shade of red as he stammered, "Ah, I'm not surprised that Elves are called the most mischievous creatures."

His eyes sparkled with a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

"Indeed," I chuckled softly, their voice carrying the wisdom of centuries.

"And you should know, that mischievous spark, you've certainly passed it on to Asher and Sawyer." Timothee's initial flush deepened, giving way to a feigned look of indignation.

"You passed down that puffy and goofy face to our twins." I shook my head.

He crossed his arms, trying hard to muster a stern expression amidst the amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Unfair accusation," he protested, though his voice betrayed him, light and lacking any real offense. "I may have shared a tale or two, but mischief? That's entirely their own making."

Fae Aurora paused, a gentle smile gracing her features as she gazed at our quarrel.

"Seeing you two together," she began softly, "it makes me remember your father, Barbara. There's a certain warmth, a bond that echoes the kind of connection he shared with those around him. It's truly beautiful to witness."

My eyes, previously alight with the warmth of the memories, clouded over with a sudden storm of sadness. I blinked rapidly, an attempt to ward off the tears that threatened to spill.

"If I hadn't run away, maybe Dad would still be safe, Mum," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath, laden with a sorrow that seemed to age her beyond her years.

Fae Aurora shook her head quickly, her fingers brushing through my hair with a tenderness that felt like the warmest of embraces.

"No, my dear," she said, her voice a soothing balm on my troubled heart. "The paths of fate are complex and beyond our control. You mustn't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"But--"

"I just miss your dad, Barbara. It's not your fault," she continued in a whisper, her gaze locking with mine, conveying a depth of understanding and compassion.

Not long after, Fae Aurora continued, "So, Timothee, have you had breakfast? There's food on the dining table, I think Sawyer and Asher won't be able to finish that turkey by themselves—"

"Mom... I don't want you to be too awkward around here," Timothee added with a lightness in his tone, his smile returning. "I've tasted it, and it's perfect. I came here today not just for this heart-to-heart. I thought perhaps you'd like to go for a short horse ride, Barby."

I blinked several times, a bit confused. "Horse riding?"