Chapter 176

Agnes

My heart lurched painfully in my chest. Thea’s violin recital. How could I have forgotten something so important?

Elijah’s eyes swept over my chaotic office, taking in the scattered sketches, fabric samples, and prototypes. Then his gaze returned to me, and I saw the concern etched into the lines around his mouth as he noted my disheveled state.

I knew what he was seeing—the dark circles under my eyes, the hollowness in my cheeks, the way my clothes hung looser than they had just a few weeks ago.

Shit. I really had been neglecting everything, including myself. But more importantly, I’d been neglecting Thea.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, already shoving papers into folders and gathering my things. “I completely lost track of the days. What time is the recital?”

“Six o’clock,” Elijah replied, checking his watch. “So we have about an hour and a half.”

I glanced down at my ink-stained hands and wrinkled clothes. There was no way I could show up looking like this. Thea deserved better than that.

“I need to go home and change,” I said, grabbing my bag and keys. “I’ll just meet you at the auditorium. I promise I’ll be there.”

Elijah hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to trust me and fearing I’d get wrapped up in work again and miss the recital entirely.

“I’ll be there,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “I just need thirty minutes to shower and change.”

He nodded slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Alright. I’ll save you a seat in the front row.”

As I moved past him toward the door, he caught my arm, pulling me against him. His thumb brushed across my cheek, likely wiping away a smudge of ink. The tenderness of the gesture made my throat tighten, and it hit me that I’d even been neglecting intimacy with him, except for the occasional late night when we’d collide in bed in the darkness of our bedroom.

Not nearly enough.

“Promise me you’re not forgetting that you still have a family,” he murmured, his eyes searching mine.

The words hit me like a slap to the face. Had I really been that absent? That consumed by my work?

The answer was obvious from the worry in his eyes, from the way his fingers lingered on my face as if afraid I might disappear again.

“I could never forget you and Thea,” I whispered, reaching up to touch his rough cheek. “Never. I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted. I’ll be there tonight, I swear.”

Something in my voice must have convinced him, because he nodded and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon, then.”

I hurried out to my car, my mind racing as I mentally calculated how much time I needed to get ready. If I drove home now, took a quick shower, and changed, I could still make it to the auditorium with ten minutes to spare.

When I got home, I took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for the master bathroom. The face that greeted me in the mirror was a shock—I looked like a stranger. My cheekbones were too prominent, my collarbone visible above the neckline of my blouse, my eyes deep-set and haunted.

How had I let myself get to this point? And how had I not noticed?

I stripped quickly and stepped into the shower, letting the scalding hot water wash away the ink stains and the stiffness in my shoulders. As I shampooed my hair, my fingers caught in tangles that hadn’t been tended to properly in days. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten a proper night’s sleep in my own bed, or eaten a full meal sitting down.

All because I’d been so focused on creating something that might save lives, I’d forgotten to actually live my own.

After toweling off, I stood in front of my closet, trying to decide what to wear. The recital wasn’t terribly formal, but I wanted to look nice for Thea. I selected a simple blue dress, knowing it was one of her favorite colors, and slipped it on over my head.

But when I turned to face the mirror, disappointment washed over me. The dress hung from my frame like a child playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

Frowning, I tugged at the fabric, trying to make it sit right. Had I really lost that much weight? I turned sideways, studying my reflection. My ribs were visible, my hip bones jutting out sharply beneath the fabric. The dress that had once hugged my curves now draped awkwardly from my shoulders.

Well, I didn’t have time to find something else. A quick check of the clock told me I had twenty-five minutes to get to the auditorium, which was fifteen minutes away on a good day.

Hastily, I applied a minimal amount of makeup, trying to bring some color back to my pale face and disguise the dark circles under my eyes. It wasn’t my best work, but it would have to do. I slipped on a pair of heels, grabbed a light cardigan, and headed back downstairs.

As I locked the front door behind me, I made a silent promise to do better. After the Goddess Festival, I would focus on my family again. I would be present for meals, for bedtime stories, for lazy Sunday mornings. I would take care of myself, eat properly, sleep in my own bed with my husband beside me.

Just a few more days of intense work, and then everything would return to normal.

And yet, even as I thought it, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered that I was lying to myself. That “normal” wasn’t something I could just slip back into after confirmation that my daughter’s remains had been found in that cave.

That this obsessive working was actually a way to avoid dealing with my grief.

The first ten minutes of the drive passed without incident. I was making good time, driving perhaps a bit faster than I should, but not recklessly. I would make it.

But then there was a loud bang followed by a rhythmic thumping sound. My car lurched to the right, and I gripped the steering wheel tightly, fighting to maintain control as I eased off the accelerator.

“No, no, no,” I muttered as I guided the car to the side of the road.

Once stopped, I got out and circled around to the passenger side. Sure enough, the front tire was completely flat, the rubber torn where something—a nail or glass—had sliced through it.

“Goddammit!” I hissed, kicking the tire in frustration.

I could change a tire. It wasn’t that difficult, and I had done it before. But it would take time that I didn’t have. I glanced at my watch—fifteen minutes until the recital started.

There was no way I would make it now.

The thought of Thea scanning the audience for my face, of the disappointment in her eyes when she realized I wasn’t there, made my chest constrict painfully. I couldn’t let that happen.

Sighing, I pulled out my phone to send Elijah a text, only to realize that I’d forgotten to charge my phone all day and it was dead. Great. That was exactly what I needed right now.

Blissfully, a car approached. I waved it down, grateful for some help. The vehicle slowed as it passed me, then pulled over about twenty feet ahead. I squinted against the setting sun.

The driver’s door opened, and a tall figure emerged. As he approached, the fading light caught his face, and my blood turned to ice in my veins.

I would recognize that man anywhere. The neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair. The nice suit. The dark, sunken eyes that reminded me a little too much of my own right now.

My father.

The man who had disowned me when I lost my wolf and my baby. The man who had thrown me out of the house with nothing but the clothes on my back and a small bag of hastily gathered possessions. The man who had called me a disgrace to the family name.

He stopped a few feet away from me, his eyes taking in my flat tire before moving to my face.

“Need some help?”