I sat at the sturdy wooden table, my gaze fixed on Nan, thoughts swirling in my mind. There was a depth to her calm demeanor that left me curious—did Asher know the truth hidden beneath? My heart weighed heavy with questions, and one thought stood out: I needed to speak to my mother. She held the answers, and although she seemed happy, I felt compelled to explore our past.
The baby she was carrying deserved to know its roots, yet I felt like an empty vessel regarding my own beginnings. Mom never discussed my father, insisting she wanted to forget it all.
“So, my heritage isn’t just being a witch?” I asked, uncertainty in my voice.
“No,” she replied, her eyes sincere. “You are so much more than that. You have to believe me.”
Her words hung in the air, significant and hopeful, ignitin
