A set of violet eyes.
So beautiful and so rare that I know this woman can only be one person. “Willow?” My voice cracks and rasps because I can’t remember the last time I’ve spoken to a soul. I clear my throat and repeat myself. “Willow?”
A soft smile pulls on her lips. “Yes, Adelaide. I’m your daughter.”
And for the first time in years and years and years, I remember what joy feels like.
I remember what it feels like to be so happy that you’re exploding inside.
I want to grab her.
She’s my daughter.
Pull her into my arms.
My little girl.
I want to hold her, love her, cherish her and never let go. But I can tell by her regal nature and perfect stature that she’s inherited her father’s straight-to-business demeanor. That’s something I do remember about Elijah. He was very stern, curt, and to the point. Besides, this is the first time I’ve seen her since she was a baby and I think it best that in situations like these, that you ease into them and don’t push it early on. So I start with a comment, “I assumed you were dead.” I know that isn’t the best way to start this kind of thing, but it’s the truth. When I found my file in Dr. Swell’s office I assumed that Willow had died in the car accident that caused my amnesia.
“I’m sure you did.” There is a somber tone to her voice and a confused look on her face. “You know, Adelaide,” she continues, “I’ve searched for you for a long time.”
“How long?” I inquire.
“It’s been years,” she says as she drops her gaze to her hands and plays with her fingers. “I always told myself I’d never give up through. Not until I found you.” Her voice is shaky. And low. Almost a whisper. “I was hoping that you’d have some answers about my childhood that I’ve been searching for, for years.”
I can barely contain the excitement in my voice and I almost blurt out the words. “I’ll answer any question you have to the best of my ability.”
“Good,” she says with a smile.
“But first,” I say. “Can I ask a few questions about you?”
“Of course.”
“Who took you in?” I want to know that she was properly cared for. I want to know if she had a good child-hood. I want to know if she was loved.
“My aunt,” she says. “My father’s sister. Do you remember her at all?”
“No.” Sorrow oozes from my vocal chords. “I never had the chance to meet her.” I straighten up my posture. “Did she raise you well? Was she attentive? Was she—?”
Willow cuts me off before I can go any further. “I had a very good upbringing. And I was loved. I was treated like one of her own children.”
“I’m glad,” I say softly. Even though I’m not glad at all and when I uttered those words a little part of me broke inside.
I would have given anything…
My arm…
My leg…
I would have ripped my heart from my chest and placed in the palm of an organ broker if that’s what it would have taken for me to have been able to raise my daughter. “You know that’s not what I would have wanted,” I tell her, choking back a sob. “If I would have known I—”
“I understand, Adelaide. I know that it isn’t your fault.” The tone in her voice tells me otherwise. There is a hint of animosity in it. Her mannerisms do as well. She’s avoiding eye contact by staring out the window. “I just,” she stammers then catches herself, “I just wanted to find out about where I came from, you know?” She looks at me, but still won’t look me directly in the eye. “I want to know about my grandparents. My father. You. I know a little bit from what my aunt told me, but she didn’t know much about your relationship with my father.”
I can’t give her an accurate answer and that almost sends me into a fit of hysteria. I feel worthless. I haven’t had anything to do with my daughter for her entire life and I can’t even give her the answers she’s looking for. I know that my absence wasn’t by choice, but still. I want to be able to help. I want to be able to contribute. “I’m not entirely sure,” I tell her. “But I imagine I loved him a great deal or you wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re not sure.” Her voice trails off and gives off the vibe that I just punched her in the stomach and knocked the wind out of her lungs.
“I…I.” I struggle to get the words out. “I was in a car accident. I was in a coma for months. I lost my memory. I remember almost nothing about my relationship with your father except for what I’ve read or been told. The few things that I do remember are insignificant.” I take a deep breath and continue. “I didn’t even remember you.” My voice cracks. My chest vibrates. A sharp pain pumps through my heart and I have to clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking. “But I remembered your eyes when you looked at me.” Tears roll down my cheeks and I sniffle. “I remember them because you have mine and my mother’s eyes.” I’ve always been told that violet eyes are rare.