I can’t help the small gasp that leaves my mouth as my eyes fall on the Monet hanging above my crib.
Fast moving flickers of scenes from my life, all centered on this painting, flash through my mind. Mom’s poetic words of wisdom. All the hours spent studying it—both with her and on my own. The paper I wrote on Monet’s techniques and the emotions his work emitted. And then the image of my childhood bedroom after my parents’ murders. The room had been ransacked, almost as if the robber had been looking for something in particular—or, as the police suggested, for anything worth stealing. I’d thought the thief must’ve known that it was a replica or had no knowledge of the value of art. It was the only thing in my room that had remained intact.
I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to remember that day.
More memories trickle in. My trips to the museum with Adrian and Rafe—both of whom had shown interest in very different ways. And both asking if I’d known where it was. Finally, I see the file marked with my name that contained a photocopy of the painting. What does it mean? Why that particular painting?
I’ve studied it so many times that, if I’d been gifted with artistic talent, I could replicate it myself. Opening my eyes, I examine the one before me. Only this time, there’s a slight shift in its appearance, and it doesn’t quite look the same as the original. Something about this particular replica is not quite right. I step forward, straining my eyes, and see something out of place in the corner, but the closer I get, the hazier the painting becomes no matter how much I try to focus.
As I glance around the room, I realize why. The world around us is tinted blue, and finally, the reality of this sinks in.
Adrian succeeded.
We’re gone.
Tears fill my eyes as the confliction settles over my heart. A few years ago, I would’ve welcomed this. After I’d lived in my own personal hell, reuniting with my parents was all I could’ve asked for. Now, however? I’m not ready. There’s so much to live for, and if given the chance, I’ll never wish for death again.
Somehow, I find my voice, which sounds raw and shaky from my screams. “Where’s Daddy?”
Her eyes finally leave the painting, and my breath catches when she looks at me. Tears swirl in her golden eyes, and her pale skin is glowing. She looks every bit as beautiful as I remember, but what’s unsettling is her expression. It’s wistful—reluctant, almost. And the way she’s sitting still in the rocking chair startles me. I want her to jump up, to wrap me in her warm embrace, but even as the thought enters my mind, I shiver, for the first time feeling the chill in the air.
“This is your dream, sweetheart,” she says, tilting her head to gaze at me.
My dream? My heart pounds, and I suck in my bottom lip, shaking my head. “This can’t be a dream. It’s so real. And Adrian… He… It’s over.” A sob racks through me, so I’m barely able to say the words out loud.
Could she be that cruel? To give me hope when I know that this—whatever this is—is some kind of in-between. Why won’t she just take me to the other side?
She smiles regretfully as she looks down at the bassinet then back up at me. “You were the most beautiful baby girl,” she whispers, not responding to my claims.
I just want to know the harsh reality. That it’s over. Yet I don’t want to hear it.
“I always wondered what your children would look like,” she says.
As the tears start to trickle down my cheek, I briefly close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. After my parents died, I didn’t want children. What if something happened to me? Could I bring a child into the world knowing that I had no one and, in turn, so would my child? I wasn’t sure I could be enough. But now, things have drastically changed.
“Mom, please, tell me what’s happening here. I don’t understand.”
“We miss you, our sweet Brie, but we’re not ready for you two yet,” she informs me as she stands.
Oh God. How does she know? I’m not even positive, but the knowing smile on her face is all the confirmation I need.
As she closes the distance between us, I have the urge to touch her. To have tangible proof she’s here and