Ella
Of all the things I expected to hear when I met my long-lost mother for the first time, it certainly wasn’t, “You’re too late.”
I stop dead in my tracks, glancing nervously at Cora, Roger and Philippe. We’re barely out of the transport boats, and my bare feet are sinking into the dense black sand covering the beach. It slips between my toes, and I absentmindedly squidge them this way and that, enjoying the sensations while my brain tries to catch up.
“We’re too late?” I finally repeat as our little party remains frozen at the edge of the waves, wondering if we might be sent back the way we came.
“You should have been here months ago.” One of the priests announces grimly.
I recognize the man from my dreams, and suddenly my heart stops beating. His face is so familiar, and yet
