Mother doesn’t move at first, and I watch her face, something passing over her expression that speaks to every haunting memory that lives in her thoughts—every moment of pain caused by my father. Every tear and cry of anguish.

Slowly, her arms lift to wrap around Amya as if she’s just taught herself how to hug someone. At that moment, I curse the short memories of our childhoods.

I remember her in flashes—her warm smile and snuggling up with her under the blankets. I remember soft touches and her singing as she helped me drift off to sleep, but they’re distant, buried in the haze of so many passing years. What I wouldn’t give to go back and have a record of it all. Of our lives rendered in relief or on an oil canvas to remember forever.

We were happy. With her, I was happy, even if it was so brief.

Amya sobs and another tear drifts down my mother’s cheek.

“Thank you,” my mother says. “I know . . . I know I haven’t said much, but I’ve appreciated every day you’ve visited me. Neither of you had to do that. Neither of you owed me that. Not after how I let you down. But know that every time you’ve come to see me, I’ve been so proud that you both turned out the way you did.”

My chest aches, a heavy knot tying up my ribs. I wrap my arms around both of them, and we hug for a long time. My eyes burn with so many unshed tears, and when I can’t hold on any longer, one falls, landing on my mother’s dress, where the fabric darkens. I stare at it, contemplating the entirety of my existence in that one spot.

We hang on a little longer, and then we pull apart.

Amya is hiccupping, her eyes bloodshot and makeup running down her cheeks. She wipes at her tears, and my sister looks different. She, too, looks lighter.

“Mother, we’re going after him tomorrow,” I say.

“After you bond to your mate,” she says, covering my hands with hers. “I understand. I hope she takes good care of you, Nadir. You deserve that after caring for me for all these years. You deserve everything.”

I smile and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

“No one will take better care of me than Lor,” I say. “No one would dare cross her.”

“Then she sounds perfect for you.”

I touch her cheek, running my thumb along the bone.

“I am ready to go,” she says. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you someday,” she whispers. “I hope. And I’ll miss you, too,” she says. “More than you can ever know.”

I press a kiss on her cheek and then pull away.

“Goodbye, Mother.”

“Goodbye,” she whispers, “my children.”