Page 2 of Mostly Shattered

Dear Lorelai,

You won’t remember this, but we met a few months ago. I’m your daughter, Tamara Devine. A little while back, the woman I thought was my mother, Astrid, told me the truth of your existence, and I hired a private detective to find you. I always wondered why I wasn’t like the others in my family. Now I know. It’s because you aren’t like them either. We’re both human.

I came to your house in San Francisco. I saw the altar you made for my protection as you kept tabs on me my entire life. I know that you have loved me all these years. I know how you and my grandfather, George, kept in touch before he died and how you traded with trolls for the amulet necklace he gave me for protection.

I take a deep breath, feeling the grief. Like Paul and Diana, Lorelai is not dead, but she is lost to me. My life has become a series of losses. Sending this letter might be crueler than not.

I have a lot of confusion and guilt when it comes to Lorelai. I can imagine what it would have been like to be raised by her as a human in a normal house having mortal problems. It’s a fantasy I visit often—going to Lorelai’s for family dinners with Paul as my husband. Diana is our daughter and I love her like my own. The only drama is that someone overcooked a pot roast and maybe a storm knocks out the power for a few minutes.

Simple.Normal.

I want it so badly.

The guilt comes when I think of my parents. To be normal means to reject them and the life they gave me. Davis and Astrid Devine are not perfect—far from it. I think that comes from being so powerful. As magical beings, they have a lot of responsibility to the supernatural community. I know that much of how they raised me was for my protection. And, I hate to admit it, but as much as I long to be normal, there is that little girl part of me that longs to be as powerful as they are. That is what I used to daydream about, having magic and belonging. That is until I got older and told myself that I needed to put away childish fantasies.

There is a rift inside of me, like two sides of the coin battling it out—supernatural versus normal, mortal versus immortal. I feel pulled in both directions. And there are times that I want them both equally.

My grandfather, George, was a remarkable man who treated me with kindness and love. I think about him every day and feel the ache of his absence. Growing up, he was my only steadfast supporter, always making time for me, even though I was a mortal in a world filled with magic. His presence was a warm shield, allowing me to navigate my childhood without ever making me feel like I was less than.

“You are a delicate butterfly in a worldof fiery dragons,”he would say.“The world needs butterflies, Tamara, as much as it needs dragons. Probably more. We all have our place.”

Even now, I hear his voice in my head, and it comforts me.

I touch the small pouch tucked away in my pocket that holds the amulet. I can’t help but imagine that the stone is a physical representation of my life. Like me, it’s mostly shattered—here but broken with a few shards missing. It will never be what it was.

I will never be what I was.

I can’t wear it, but I carry it with me. The once red stone is now a fragmented green. The magic is completely drained, no longer able to stop any death that comes for me.

Until three months ago, I didn’t even realize the story my grandfather told me about it being enchanted was true. Then, it saved my life a bunch of times before killing Conrad in an act of what I can only call karma. In doing so, it broke. It’s stupid but having it near makes me feel loved. I like the weight of it in my pocket.

I turn back to the letter, wondering if I’m even explaining any of this right. How do I address the birth mother who doesn’t remember meeting me as an adult?

I write,The amulet’s magic worked. It kept me fromdying on several occasions—vampire attacks, explosions, and, well, other things.

Conrad tried to shoot me, and when that didn’t work, he shot Paul. I can’t write about what happened to Paul. Seeing his life draining from his gaze…

I gasp for breath as I feel the pain raging through me, trying to leak out of my eyes. I won’t let it. I won’t cry. Not here in public.

I need that image out of my head. I wish I could claw it out of my brain.

Part of me wishes the amulet would have erased my memory, too. Then I could grieve Conrad as a brother, not a betrayer.

I met Paul at the cemetery. We were both attending different funerals, which probably should have been my first clue that our time together was doomed. Who starts a relationship at a funeral? Well, besides ghouls.

I look up, seeing the retriever run around Paul’s legs, almost tripping him. It’s good to see him happy. He’s a single dad whose cheating, estranged wife just passed away. The internet was all over the fact Nancy had been giving a guy head in a car at the time of her death. People can be such assholes when anonymously making fun of a stranger.

The dog barks. Paul would have gotten the animal for Diana. He loves thatfive-year-old more than anything, as it should be. It’s a joy to hear Diana’s laughter as she watches her father play-wrestle the dog. It gives me hope for her future, even though I can’t be a part of it.

I’m reminded of the day I met Conrad. I was the same age as Diana now, and I expected a puppy for my birthday, not another brother.

Turns out I had been right. A puppy would have been loyal.

Diana is better off not knowing me. Safer. Being around me almost got her killed on multiple occasions. It did get her father killed. Where would she be if time had not reset? Parentless. Alone. Hunted by monsters. Tormented by nightmares. I’m glad she doesn’t remember monsters are real. She is everything I couldn’t be at her age. I want to keep her that way—innocent and perfect.

But to do so, I need to stay out of their lives.

I can’t be with Paul.

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