Daughter of the Departed (Book 1)

For weeks after that meeting beneath the sycamore, Elara drifted between worlds.

By day, she returned to her life in the city—rehearsals, performances, late-night practice sessions, and the relentless pace of chasing a dream she had earned through sweat and silence. But at night, her thoughts turned to Liana. To the tremble in her voice. The weight in her eyes. The sincerity of her pain.

She didn’t tell anyone at first. Not even Marcus.

The moment with Liana felt too raw, too fragile to be dissected. She wasn’t sure yet what it meant. Whether it was a beginning, an ending, or something in between.

But slowly, she began to pull threads from the past.

She went through old family albums. Read Marcus’s journals he kept during her early years—one of the ways he coped after Liana vanished. She found a recording of her first recital where, after the final note, Marcus whispered into the camcorder, “She plays like her mother."

That night, Elara finally asked him.

“Did you love her?”

Marcus looked up from his coffee, his gaze soft. “I did. More than anything. But loving someone doesn’t always save them.”

She nodded slowly. “I met her.”

He didn’t look surprised.

“I thought you might,” he said. “That’s why I gave you the letter. I figured… you’d need to choose for yourself.”

Elara looked at him, heart swelling. “Thank you. For not trying to control it.”

“I trust you,” Marcus said simply. “Even if it hurts me.”

She reached out and took his hand. For a moment, they just sat like that—father and daughter, steady through every storm.

A week later, Elara met Liana again.

This time in a quiet coffee shop outside the city. They spoke of small things. Books. Music. Childhood memories Liana missed and Elara didn’t remember. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t forced.

It was something.

Each visit was a step. Not toward forgiveness—Elara wasn’t ready for that. But toward understanding. Humanizing. Softening the jagged edges of abandonment.

One evening, Liana brought a small, velvet-lined box.

“I don’t know if this means anything to you,” she said, eyes brimming. “But it meant everything to me.”

Inside was a silver charm bracelet. Tiny charms: a violin, a music note, a little tree.

“I bought it before you were born,” Liana whispered. “One charm for every milestone I imagined I’d share with you.”

Elara’s breath caught.

She didn’t put it on. Not yet.

But she held it in her palm like a truth finally spoken.

In time, Elara realized the choice wasn’t just whether to let her mother in. It was whether to let go of the idea of what a mother should be—and accept who Liana was.

Flawed.

Wounded.

Trying.

And though Elara wasn’t ready to call her “Mom,” she was ready to listen. To keep showing up beneath that old tree. To let the silence between them slowly, cautiously fill with music.

The same way she’d always done.