We were now inside Cordelia's room. I still clutched the heavy book Alice had given me, its weight pressing not just in my hands but deep in my chest. The burden of grief and confusion settled over me like a suffocating fog I couldn't shake.
"Would you like to take a bath first? Freshen up a bit?" Cordelia asked softly as she moved toward her cabinets to retrieve some towels.
"I don't have clothes like yours," she admitted quietly. "But… I think I still have some of your mother's clothes in her room." I nodded and she led me to a gray door down the hall. When she opened it, I froze.
It was my mother's room—but nothing like I remembered. The walls, the furniture, even the bedding—all muted in shades of gray and beige. No vibrant colors, no warmth. It was stark and bare, almost lifeless. The room was a quiet, dull contrast to the vibrant woman I thought I knew.
"Is this really Mom's room?" I whispered, stepping inside, the unfamiliar silence wrapping around me.
Cordelia moved straight to the closet and pulled out a dress. It was simple—a white, strapless tube dress with a soft, flowing skirt.
"She didn't own many dresses," Cordelia explained, holding it up for me to see. "Mostly pants and shirts. Maybe this will do."
I studied the dress in her hands. It was plain, unassuming—and somehow, it felt right. She held it up against me, and it fit.
"The Genevieve I knew loved colorful dresses," I said, my voice trembling as I scanned the dull room again. "She adored thrifting quirky, unusual pieces—always saying that being unique was something to be proud of in this ordinary world."
I shook my head in disbelief. "This… this plain, lifeless room doesn't make sense. Mom's taste was nothing like this."
Cordelia looked at me, confusion shadowing her features. "Gen never liked colors," she said gently. "She was color blind, dear."
My heart sank so deeply it felt like it shattered. I had never known.
"But… I thought she loved colors and prints. That's why I started dressing the way I do. To carry on what she loved." I lifted my skirt, silently arguing, hoping Cordelia might understand the pain in my choices.She sighed softly. "I don't know, Sera. I never met the Genevieve you remember. So much has changed since you were born."
I placed the heavy book on my mother's bed and sank down onto it. The weight of everything—the secrets, the contradictions, the sudden revelations—hit me like a brutal blow to the gut. It was as if my insides were ripped out, scattered across the floor, only to be shoved back in, raw and bruised.
The pain was overwhelming. Horrendous.