Lady Matilda hugged Jessica again and again, as though her arms could pull back the time lost between them. Each embrace was tender, trembling, yet unrelenting—as though she feared Jessica might vanish the moment she let go.
"You must have suffered greatly… when she died," she murmured, her voice thinned by grief, her brows furrowed with the weight of heartache
Her grip tightened slightly, as if the words had reopened an old wound.
"How was she, my Nora?" she asked, her voice cracking with emotion. "Did she live well? Or… did she suffer so much?"
The questions spilled out, unfiltered. For years, she had lived with them in the corners of her mind and in silence, these questions had lived and echoed within her yet she had never been able to answer them.
Has Nora eaten well?
Was she safe?
Who held her when she cried?
Who celebrated her when she succeeded?
