The silence in the cursed grove felt heavier than ever.
Imogene stared at Garrick like he had just ripped the ground open. Elira’s breath came out in a hard, shaky puff. Neither of them could speak for a long moment. Not even a whisper. The air between them burned with disbelief, betrayal, and raw tension.
Garrick, now standing, crossed his arms and leaned against the hard wall. “It’s her,” he repeated. “Freya is my daughter. Eleanor’s daughter.”
Elira blinked, her lips trembling. “You told us she died. You said the baby didn’t make it.” She repeated.
“I had to,” Garrick said, voice rough.
“Doesn’t change the fact that you LIED!” Imogene screamed suddenly, shoving back her chair so hard it scraped across the stone floor. “You let us bury an empty grave. You let us suffer, thinking our
