Agnes
I woke up to the sensation of something small and warm nuzzled against my belly. Looking down, a small smile touched my lips.
Thea.
She was fast asleep, her hair a tangled mess around her face and her teddy bear squished between us. She must have crawled into bed at some point when I was recovering from the drugs, and the thought of her sneaking into my room to curl up against me filled me with a profound feeling of warmth.
But with that warmth also came a bittersweet feeling that I hadn’t expected.
Thea wasn’t my daughter. Or so Elijah said; he believed that my child was still out there somewhere, but that it wasn’t Thea. Olivia had been pregnant with her, he said.
And of course, I believed him. Elijah knew his own daughter, and Thea was his—the paternity tes
