Page 59 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty

“My sister told me she’d most likely be dead when I received her message, and she was right. Her words, however, didn’t sound frightened or frantic. If anything, they sounded hopeful.She informed me that someday a part of her would return to me and that I’d know when I found her,” Nan explained. The way she spoke sounded as if she’d been waiting years to tell me the truth, and I was certain that was the case. “For years I searched for a piece of her. I searched for my sister but found only sorrow and no answers. I saw her in every sunset, shining down at me from above. But one day… I just lost all hope. When I met your grandfather—may he rest easy—I found my spark again, knowing Dottie would have wanted me to move on, even if I never found her.” She paused, and I could hear her taking a sip of her drink before she continued. “The day of your birth was a disaster. Your mother had a terrible fight with your father, and she was so angry that she didn’t even want to look at you. It wasn’t your fault, she was just... she didn’t want to look at something Aaron had given her. So, the nurse handed you to me, and the moment I laid eyes on you, I feared my heart would burst with happiness. Dottie was right. I felt her in you. And when I looked beneath the little beanie the nurse had put on you and saw the tiny ginger curls, I knew. I gave you her name, my little darling Dorothee.”

My eyes stung, and in a quiet voice, I asked, “it was you who named me?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?”

Even though she couldn’t see it, I shook my head and quickly wiped away the tears that had spilled over. “I always thought Mum did.”

“No, it was me.” Nan paused. “She—you don’t have to hear this, Dorothee.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “No, please tell me. I want and I need to know.”

Nan waited several moments before she sighed heavily and ripped the plaster off. “Cordelia said she didn’t care enough to give you a name. After three days, I decided you couldn’t staynameless until your mother gained some dignity, so I named you in honour of my sister. Dorothee Odette De Loughrey the Second. It took Aaron four days to apologise before Cordelia could look at you. As a mother, I can never forgive her for abandoning her child because of its father.”

It took my mother four days before she first looked at her daughter.

That was okay.

It was fine.

All of this had happened a long time ago.

But it didn’t hurt any less.

I held my hand over the speaker and let out a pained sob, unable to keep it in, though I didn’t want my grandma to hear how much my mother had hurt me.

If I’d been the perfect daughter, would my mother have treated me differently?

The answer was no. Now I knew she wouldn’t have.

“You know I love you, my little darling, don’t you?” Nan asked, her tone concerned.

I inhaled a shaky breath, trying to force myself to keep it together, before taking my hand off the speaker and answering, “Of course I do. I love you too, Nan.”

“Good. Now, I don’t have much more time because Nurse Laura will be here any minute to help me get ready for the night, but I need you to know a few things in case your mother won’t allow any more contact.”

The thought of my mother having so much control over a life she never wanted to take responsibility for filled me with rage. I’d always held so much understanding, so much hope. I’d been patient, waiting for things to someday get better. But I was angry, so incredibly angry.

“Dottie always told me about a church. She loved that place for its peaceful aura. Do you have a chapel near the school?”

I thought about the place hidden in the woods. “Yes, the chapel is still on campus.”

Nan exhaled, relieved. “In her letter, she wrote that a fox loved to linger on the steps of the Lord's house. By any means, I can’t tell you what she was trying to say, but perhaps it wasn’t meant for me.”

I stiffened and threw off my blanket. Jumping up, I walked over to my desk and grabbed a pen and paper to write down what she’d just told me.

The fox was Gwyneth.

She had referred to herself as the fox in the tale she’d told me, and I’d heard Dottie call her that in the memory.

“Yes, I think I know what she meant by that.”

“I’ll send you a package with Dottie’s letter and a few other things I kept from her after her death. Take care, my little darling. I love you to the moon and beyond,” she said, her voice heavy with affection.

“Thank you, Nan. I love you too.”

The line went dead, and I placed my phone on my desk, staring at the words I’d scribbled on my maths assignment.

Find Gwyn at the chapel and ask her why Dottie could have mentioned her in her last letter before her death.

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