Fear & Love
Daella Targaryen pressed her back to the smooth, cold stone of the corridor, her hands clasped tightly at her chest. Her heartbeat thudded so loudly in her ears that she wondered if it would drown out the voices. But no—it was impossible not to hear the muffled tones seeping from behind the heavy oak door. Her father’s voice rumbled like distant thunder, steady and low, while her mother’s words were sharper, quicker, snapping like twigs thrown onto a fire. What they said blurred together in her ears, but Daella already knew what it was about.
It was always the same lately—quiet conversations that fell silent when she entered the room, looks exchanged across dinner tables, and soft-voiced comments meant for her to overhear. They were speaking of her again. Of her future.
Her heart ached with the weight of their disappointment. For years, her parents had been patient, gentle in their urging, speaking to her as if she might suddenly grow braver or stronger if only they waited long enough. But now their voices had changed, especially her father’s. She didn’t need to hear the words to understand the meaning behind them. Their patience had dried up. The time to decide was over.
She bit her lip and scrunched her eyes shut, trembling as though some shadowy beast was lurking just beyond the door. "Be brave, Daella," she whispered to herself, the words as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. She had said it so many times it felt like a lullaby now. But no matter how much she whispered those words, the bravery never seemed to come.
Her hand rose to brush the corners of her eyes, already damp. She hated crying, especially crying alone, but it was so hard not to cry when things felt this heavy. Her mother said it was unbecoming for a girl of sixteen—her tone made it clear she thought Daella should act her years—but Daella didn’t know how to be anything else.
She had tried, hadn’t she? Everyone made it seem so simple. The others—Saera, Viserra, even Alyssa—they were all so sure of themselves, standing tall and proud, with sharp wit and fierceness that made Daella feel even smaller than she already was. Saera and Viserra laughed and teased her whenever the subject of marriage came up, calling her "little flower" or "sweet dove," their words dripping with mockery.
Little flower. Sweet dove. Soft. Silly. Simple.
Her chest clenched, and she felt that ache again, right where her heart should be, because part of her believed them. Maybe they were right. Maybe she was simple. She didn’t know how to think the way they did or want the things they wanted. She only knew that the idea of being given to a man she’d never met made her feel sick. And she hated being sick—what if they sent for the maester with all his leeches?
Her legs felt wobbly, like they might give out beneath her at any second. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to think. What if she ran? Could she run? No, no—where would she go? No one would let Daella stray far, not without someone… someone kind to carry her thoughts for her, to make the big, frightening decisions.
Her parents would never see it that way, though. If she cried or faltered, her mother would talk to her softly, as one would to a skittish horse, and her father would look at her with those heavy eyes, the ones that always seemed to say, "How did we make such a fragile daughter?"
Her knees buckled slightly. She grasped the stone behind her for balance, blinking tears that threatened to fall. She couldn’t stay here, crouched in the shadows like one of those horrible cats that lurked within the keep’s nooks and crannies. Sniffling quietly, Daella turned and started down the hall, tiptoeing as though the stone beneath her could betray her.
It wasn’t long before her feet carried her toward the one person who might help her—would help her, if she only asked. Thinking of her steadied her a little, like the world was less blurry and overwhelming when she stood beside her. She never teased her like Viserra or scolded her like Saera. She didn’t push her too hard or make her feel small. She just listened.
Her gown whispered against the floor as she hurried through the twisting halls, still clutching the words be brave, Daella, be brave close to her heart. She bit her lip again as she walked—her parents didn’t like that habit, but it kept her calm.
If anyone could stop her from crying today… it was her.
“Can’t I stay with you?”
The words fell between them, quieter than a whisper, as delicate as a spider’s thread.
Daenerys Targaryen didn’t respond right away. She sat by the window, her fingers moving deftly as she twisted strands of her silver-gold hair into intricate braids. The sunlight spilling through the window caught the iridescent sheen of her hair, turning it to molten light.
Daella fidgeted with her skirts, hugging herself tightly. The silence hurt more than an answer would. “Dany... please.”
Finally, Daenerys sighed, turning her head to look at her younger sister. Her pale lilac eyes searched Daella’s face, no sharpness in them, only a softness that mirrored Daella’s own tender nature. “They gave you a choice, didn’t they?”
“Not really,” Daella murmured, her voice wavering. She squeezed the fabric of her skirts tighter, fingers trembling. “They say I can pick, but... but I can’t. I don’t want to pick. I don’t want—”
Daenerys stood gracefully, setting her braid over one shoulder, and crossed the room with an easy familiarity that soothed Daella even before her sister knelt before her. “They’re not so bad, sweet sister,” Daenerys said gently. “Mother and Father have chosen wisely.” Her hands reached out, steadying Daella by resting lightly on her fidgeting ones. “Tymond Lannister is handsome, and kind, they say. Rodrik Arryn is honorable and strong—a lord with great lands.”
Daella’s lip trembled, her voice breaking like a dam. “But I don’t want them! I don’t want any of it!” Her wide, violet eyes brimmed with tears. “I can’t—I just can’t.”
“Shh,” Daenerys whispered, drawing her closer. She brushed a stray strand of Daella’s pale, silken hair from her face. “Don’t cry.”
“Please, Dany. Speak to them. Speak to Aegon. Someone will listen to you!” Daella’s voice cracked, desperation making it louder than she meant, and she immediately shrank into herself, mortified by her outburst. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks now, hot and heavy.
Daenerys sighed softly, her composure unshaken, and pulled her younger sister into her arms, resting Daella’s head against her shoulder. She cradled her gently, as if Daella were still a small child afraid of shadows in the dark. “Shh, sweet one. Hush now. I’ve got you.”
Daella clung to her sister like a drowning girl clinging to driftwood, her body quivering with sobs. “I don’t know what to do,” she whimpered, her voice muffled against Daenerys.
Daenerys stroked her hair with slow, calming movements, whispering soothing words every now and then, though most were lost beneath Daella’s quiet crying. When her voice finally steadied, Daenerys pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. She tucked a loose curl behind Daella’s ear, her touch warm and comforting. “Tell me, sweetling. What would you like in a husband, hmm? What would make all this less frightening?”
Daella blinked at her through wet lashes. “I... I don’t know,” she admitted. But under her sister’s steady gaze, she tried to think. “I... I suppose I’d want him to be kind. Gentle. Like Father is with Mother.” She wiped at her cheeks with the handkerchief Daenerys handed her, her voice barely above a whisper. “And he must follow the Seven! That’s proper, isn’t it?”
Daenerys smiled faintly, a quiet, bittersweet look. “That’s a good start, darling,” she said, her voice soft. “And what else? What kind of life would you wish to have?”
Daella hesitated, her cheeks coloring as she gnawed at her lip. She searched for more answers, but none came. “I don’t know what else there is to want. I just... I want to stay here, Dany. With you. With Father and Mother. Why can’t I? Why must I... leave?” Her voice broke again, trembling like her hands. “They let you stay. Why can’t I?”
Daenerys’s gaze flickered, a sadness passing over her features like a cloud obscuring the sun. “Oh, Daella,” she said softly. She took her sister’s hands in hers, her grip gentle but firm. “It was never so simple for me.”
“Why?” Daella asked, tears glinting at the corners of her red-rimmed eyes. “Why didn’t Father make you leave?”
For a moment, Daenerys was silent. Then her lips curved into a sad, wistful smile. “Do you know why I spend so much time on Dragonstone?”
Daella shook her head hesitantly. “Mother says it’s because you were unwell when you were little.”
“Yes,” Daenerys murmured, tracing absent patterns over the back of Daella’s hands. “I was... and I never fully recovered.” She hesitated, her lilac eyes focused on some distant memory. “Father wanted me to marry Corlys. But then Aegon refused his first match and chose Meredyth instead..." Her words trailed off, and her lips pressed together briefly, as they always did whenever Aegon’s name came with the shadow of disappointment. “And when the matter turned to me, I fell ill again.”
Daella wasn’t sure she understood all of it, but she nodded slowly, leaning her head against her sister’s shoulder once more.
Daenerys sighed and brushed a hand over Daella’s tear-streaked cheek. “I will speak with Mother and Father,” she promised quietly. “And Aegon, if he will hear me.”
Daella’s eyes widened, hope flickering behind them. “You... you will? Truly?”
Daenerys cupped her cheek, her own sadness barely masked by the steadiness in her tone. “I will try, sweetling.” She kissed her forehead softly. “But you must understand—I cannot promise their minds will change.”
Daella sniffled, her chest hitching. “Thank you,” she whispered, the word trembling with fragile gratitude.
Daenerys rose to her feet then, smoothing her skirts. “Rest for a while, Daella. Let yourself breathe. I’ll do what I can.”
Daella wanted to plead for her to stay, to keep the room warm with her presence. But Daenerys was already moving toward the door, casting back one last reassuring smile before slipping out.
The room felt colder without Daenerys, the air heavier with the absence of her warmth. Even with her sister’s words of comfort, the weight of Daella’s future pressed down on her small shoulders, an invisible yoke she could never hope to escape.
For a time, she sat in silence, twisting the delicate handkerchief Daenerys had left behind between trembling fingers. She tried to steady her breath, tried to remember the soothing cadence of her sister’s voice, but the quiet was too loud, and her thoughts were heavy with dread.
The air in the room shifted suddenly, and the sharp creak of the door made Daella jump. She turned, her wide, tear-filled eyes hopeful for only a fleeting instant—until she saw them. It wasn’t Daenerys returning to bring her peace, but Saera and Viserra, their laughter spilling through the doorway like icy water.
“There you are,” Saera drawled, striding into the room with the breezy confidence of someone who had never been denied anything. Her golden curls shimmered in the weak afternoon light, bouncing with every step. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“She’s been crying again,” Viserra guessed, an ever-present smirk tugging at her lips. She leaned against the doorframe, toying idly with one of the pearl clasps at her throat. “Poor little Daella, running away from her horrible fate—marriage.”
Saera perched gracefully on the edge of the bed, her dress pooling in ripples of deep blue. Her violet eyes gleamed with mischief as she tilted her head toward her younger sister. “Tell us, sweet sister, which of your two gallant suitors will you choose? Ser Tymond Lannister, proud and golden as the Rock?” She made a dramatic flourish with her hand. “Or that dashing, daring Lord Rodrik Arryn, who lives so high in the clouds, you’d have to grow wings to reach his bed?”
Daella stiffened, clutching the handkerchief tighter. “Leave me alone,” she mumbled, turning her face away.
Saera was undeterred. She leaned closer, her saccharine tone softening into mockery. “Oh, but we only care for your happiness, sweet dove.”
Viserra laughed, a sharp, biting sound. “Yes, you should be grateful. Not everyone gets such a choice, after all.” She sashayed further into the room, her skirts flowing like waves around her as she stopped beside the bed. “Though, personally, I think you should have taken Royce Blackwood.”
Daella’s breath hitched at the name, her mind flashing to the solemn man with dark hair and darker eyes. She hadn’t liked him, not at all.
Saera grinned, delighted by the reaction. “Oh yes, dear. Royce Blackwood. Would you like to know why?”
“No—” Daella tried to protest, her voice timid.
Viserra, however, clapped her hands and giggled. “Tell her, Saera!”
Saera leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “I heard they call on their weirwoods to bless their unions. Sacrifices, Daella. Blood spilled before the trees.”
“No,” Daella breathed, her hands flying to her mouth.
“Mm, yes. And do you know what else I heard?” Saera’s lips curled into a sharp-toothed smile. “They drink it. At the weddings!”
Viserra burst into laughter. “Maybe you’d have been the sacrifice, little sister.”
“No! Stop!” Daella cried, the words bursting from her lips as her stomach twisted painfully. Tears spilled over again, hot and fast, blurring her vision.
Viserra twirled a lock of hair between her fingers, her eyes gleaming with vicious delight. “Oh look, she’s crying again. You really shouldn’t be so sensitive, Daella. It’s unbecoming of a Targaryen.”
“I’m only preparing you,” Saera said with a mockingly sweet tone, feigning concern. “Royce Blackwood adored you, and you rejected him. Now look where you are...” Her voice dropped, her smile sharpening into steel. “One step away from the Silent Sisters.”
“Stop it! Please stop!” Daella begged, her sobs wracking her slight frame as she shook her head frantically.
“Oh, but we’re only getting started,” Viserra said, her grin widening. She leaned closer, her shadow falling over Daella. “Do you think Tymond Lannister will be so patient with a silly little girl like you? I heard even the kindest lords grow cruel when their wives don’t stop crying.”
“Leave her alone,” a small, firm voice interrupted.
Both Saera and Viserra turned toward the doorway, startled. A tiny figure stood there, his hands planted firmly on his hips, his jaw set in a stubborn pout. Valerion.
At just three years old, Valerion was chubby-cheeked and clumsy, still more a baby than a boy. His silver-gold curls were untidy from sleep, his tunic wrinkled, but his bright, violet eyes glared at his sisters with all the force of a stormcloud.
“Leave Daella alone!” he repeated, puffing out his little chest like a knight preparing for battle.
For a moment, there was silence in the room. Then Saera laughed—loud and cruel. “Oh, isn’t this precious?” she said, clapping her hands together in mock appreciation. “Little Valerion thinks he’s brave.”
Viserra grinned, leaning onto the bed with a smirk. “And what will you do, dear brother? Cry at us until we surrender?”
Valerion’s cheeks flushed redder, and his little fists balled at his sides. “I’ll hit you,” he declared.
Saera blinked, startled, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard.
Viserra, on the other hand, burst into laughter. “You’ll hit us, will you?”
“I will!” Valerion stomped his foot for added emphasis. His round face was scrunched with fury, and he flailed a hand toward them clumsily. “You’re mean! And ugly! And I’ll hit you if you don’t go away!”
Viserra gasped, pretending to be appalled. “Ugly? Did you hear that, Saera? He called me ugly!”
But Saera didn’t laugh this time. Her gaze lingered on Valerion for a beat too long, and then, with a roll of her eyes, she stood. “Oh, let’s leave her to her sulking,” she said dismissively, brushing past her younger brother. “He’ll just waddle to Mother if we stay.”
At the mention of their mother, Viserra faltered, the mirth in her eyes dimming. “Hmph. Fine,” she muttered, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She followed Saera toward the door, pausing just long enough to throw Daella one last smirk. “Enjoy your crying, Daella.”
The door shut behind them, leaving Daella and Valerion alone.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, with the determination only a child could muster, Valerion toddled over to Daella’s side. His expression, fierce just moments before, softened to something uncertain and earnest. “Did they hurt you?” he asked, his voice small and wobbly.
Daella wiped at her damp cheeks, trying to steady her breaths. “No,” she admitted softly, her voice quivering.
Valerion frowned deeply, climbing onto the bed beside her with some difficulty. He perched himself next to her, his tiny frame straightening as though the act might make him bigger in her eyes. “Why were you crying again?” he asked, his tone free of judgment, only concern.
Daella hesitated, her fingers worrying the handkerchief in her lap. He was so small. What could he possibly understand? But there was something about the way he looked at her—so serious, so full of care—that made her sigh and murmur, “Because I don’t want to get married.”
Valerion tilted his head, considering this. “Because you don’t like the boy?”
Her lips trembled as she spoke. “Because I don’t like any of it,” she whispered. “I just… I want to stay here.”
Valerion huffed, crossing his little arms over his chest. “Then tell Mother and Father no.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
Daella let out a shaky breath. “Because girls don’t get to choose.”
Valerion’s brows furrowed so deeply it looked unnatural on his young face. “That’s stupid.”
A wet, uneven laugh escaped her, soft but genuine. “Yes,” she whispered, “it is.”
Valerion reached for her hand, his tiny fingers wrapping around hers with an almost solemn determination. “I’ll protect you, Daella.”
She let out another watery chuckle, brushing her free hand over his unruly silver curls. “You’re only three, my little love.”
“I will grow,” he said fiercely, his small chin lifting in defiance of what he saw as an insignificant obstacle. “And I’ll always be your brother. No one will hurt you.”
Daella squeezed his hands, her heart aching with a bittersweet tenderness. He was so small, his earnest promise so innocent yet so brave. She pulled him into her arms, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “And I will always be your sister,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
For a while, they were silent, Daella breathing deeply as she tried to calm her still-frayed nerves. It was nice, she thought, to simply sit and be held. Nice to feel safe, even if only for a fleeting moment.
“I don’t like Saera,” Valerion declared suddenly, breaking the embrace. His little arms crossed over his chest in a determined pout. “She’s mean.”
Daella sniffled, wiping at her damp cheeks. “They’re all cruel,” she murmured, her voice resigned.
Valerion frowned, tilting his head. “Even me?” he asked, his voice small now, uncertain.
Wide-eyed, Daella shook her head quickly. “No! You are kind and gentle. You and Dany and Maegelle…” Her tone softened at the mention of their elder sisters. To Daella, they were the rare anchors in a storm.
Valerion nodded solemnly, her words affirming something important to him. “Do you hate them?” he asked after a moment, his voice carefully curious.
Daella hesitated, her fingers plucking at the embroidery on her sleeves. Hate was too strong a word—too sharp and dark for her tender heart. “No,” she said softly. “I’m afraid of them. But I don’t hate them.” She swallowed thickly. “It is them who hate me.”
“They don’t,” Valerion replied, his tiny voice steady, holding a wisdom beyond his years. “Maybe they just don’t understand you.”
Daella tilted her head, staring at him with quiet wonder. “Do you understand me?”
He nodded firmly. “Yes.”
A shaky breath left her lips. If he understood her—little Valerion, barely old enough to lace his own boots—then maybe that was enough.
“Aegon, Saera, and Viserra mock me and are unkind,” Daella whispered, her voice barely audible. “Aemon and Baelon… They don’t care. They—they don’t see me at all…”
“They are…” Valerion frowned, wrinkling his nose in concentration. “They’re indifferent.”
The word fell perfectly, and she let out a small, breathless laugh. “Yes,” she said. “Indifferent. That’s the word.”
Valerion’s little chest puffed up, proud of himself for finding it. “What about Alyssa?” he asked, his face scrunching as though uncertain if he wanted to hear the answer.
Daella sighed, tracing little circles against the fabric of her skirt. “She gets frustrated with me,” she said softly.
“She’s mean,” Valerion decided, scowling.
“She’s not,” Daella murmured, though the defense lacked conviction. “She just… doesn’t understand.”
Silence fell between them again before Valerion perked up with a new thought. “And Vaegon?”
Daella’s lips pressed into a line, and after a moment, she shook her head. “He was blunt and cold,” she admitted. “But…”
“But?”
Her shoulders shrugged delicately. “But at least he said he was sorry before he left for the Citadel.”
Valerion nodded as though she’d made a wise point. “And Gaemon?”
“I don’t know how I feel about him,” Daella confessed.
Valerion huffed faintly. “He gets bored with me. He likes following Viserra around too much.” He wrinkled his nose. “At least I have Viserys and Daeron to play with.”
Daella smiled faintly. “You like them?”
He nodded. “They’re like me. We play knights and dragons.”
“And Aerys and Rhaenys?”
Valerion hesitated this time. “Aerys is bossy,” he admitted. “He says I’m little, but I’m not.” He puffed out his chest again, indignant. “I’m big.”
“You’re not little,” Daella agreed, her touch gentle as she smoothed his messy curls.
“And Rhaenys…” Valerion frowned. “She plays sometimes, but she’d rather talk to the Septa. Or read. Or follow Aemon around.”
Daella nodded. “She is clever,” she said fondly.
“She doesn’t like getting dirty,” he muttered, clearly unconvinced of the virtue in cleverness.
Daella laughed softly. “Perhaps she just doesn’t know how to play like you do.”
Valerion considered this carefully before nodding. “Maybe.” His little fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeve before his bright gaze lifted back to hers. “I like having so many brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces. But sometimes it’s too many.”
Daella blinked. “Too many?”
“It’s loud,” Valerion said simply, pressing his face against her arm. “And everyone is busy. Sometimes they forget me.” His voice fell to a whisper. “I don’t like being forgotten.”
Daella’s chest constricted painfully. She knew that feeling all too well.
“Oh, sweetling,” she murmured, gathering him into her arms once more. She pressed a firm kiss to the top of his head. “I will never forget you.”
He nestled closer with a contented sigh. “I like you best, Dalla.”
Her throat tightened, and she blinked through the fresh sting of tears, her heart full. “And I like you best, my little love,” she whispered.
For the first time all day, the weight on her chest felt lighter.
Red Keep, 81 AC
Daella hummed softly to herself as she folded the last of her dresses into the wooden chest, her fingers smoothing over the silks with care. Each gown carried a memory: whispered secrets in the Maidenvault, her first dance at court, warm mornings spent in the gardens. Now, they would all come with her to a new life, a new home. Her gaze lingered on the chest before drifting to the window, where the sun was beginning its slow descent toward the distant horizon, bathing King’s Landing in hues of orange and gold.
It felt like a dream—the idea that, by this time tomorrow, she wouldn’t be here anymore. The Red Keep, her childhood home, would belong to her past, and she... she would belong to someone else’s. She’d have a new home, a husband, and, as she thought about with a burgeoning sense of delight, children to sweetly call her their mother. I will be their new mother, she thought, pressing her hands to her chest as an unbidden smile crept across her face. A true family of her own. The thought filled her with lightness, chasing away the shadows of doubt and fear that had once lingered.
The sound of the chamber door creaking open made her turn, and a flood of eager voices followed. Her siblings and nephews—her little shadowlings—spilled into the room like a river surging through a broken dam. Their footfalls were quick and uneven, accompanied by the usual hum of excitement that always followed them. Aerys, the eldest of the lot, entered more composed than the others, his posture careful, but even he couldn’t quite hide the glimmer of curiosity in his violet eyes.
"You’re really going?" Aerys asked, his voice measured but soft, his hands clasped neatly behind his back as he rocked on the balls of his feet.
Daella smiled at him, smoothing the skirt of her gown. “Of course I am.”
“She’s getting married, silly,” Rhaenys said, stepping past him with her chin held high, all the authority of her seven years on display. Her braids swayed as she turned to face Daella. “She is going to be Lady of the Vale now, aren’t you?”
“Lady Arryn,” Daella corrected gently, her smile widening.
“You sound proud,” Gaemon said, his tone inquisitive as his sharp, watchful eyes narrowed slightly. He looked at her as if trying to read something hidden behind her radiant smile.
“I am proud,” she admitted, adjusting the hem of her sleeve. “Lord Rodrik is wise and kind—kind like Father.”
“And you’ll be a mother to his children,” Aerys added, laughing faintly.
“Yes,” Daella said softly, her hands twisting together as her heart swelled with the thought. “I’ll have a family of my own. I’ll never be alone again...”
A silence followed her words, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the wooden floor beneath their feet, until Daeron, the smallest of the boys, spoke up with a disbelieving scoff. “That’s silly! You were never alone. You had us!”
Daella blinked at him, surprised by the indignation etched across his little face. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and his lips jutted out in a pout that tugged at her heart.
She couldn’t help but laugh—a bright, genuine sound. With a soft smile, she reached out to tug playfully at his sleeve. “And I’ll always have you,” she promised, her voice warm and sure. “No matter how far away I might be.”
“Then we’ll visit!” Viserys chimed in cheerfully, his eyes sparkling with excitement at the idea. “Father and Mother will let us, right? They’ll say yes!”
“You would do that?” Daella asked, a note of wonder in her voice as she looked at her siblings with wide eyes.
“Of course we would,” Valerion said, stepping forward and squeezing her hand tightly. His small fingers were warm against hers, his earnest gaze meeting hers. “And if you ever feel lonely at night, I’ll climb into bed with you. Just like always.”
A lump rose in Daella’s throat, warm and bittersweet. She knelt, taking Valerion into her arms and pressing a soft kiss to his golden curls. “Thank you, Valerion,” she whispered.
The room felt fuller than it had all day, filled not with the ache of loss but with a radiant sense of belonging. For once, there were no tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, no heavy weight pressing against her chest. She was leaving—but she was not losing them.
“You’re all so kind to me,” Daella said softly, her gaze sweeping over them. “You make it hard to say goodbye.”
“Then don’t say it!” Rhaenys exclaimed.
Daella smiled as her hand settled atop Valerion’s messy curls. “All right,” she said gently. “I won’t. I will not say goodbye. I will say this instead: I will love you all as much in the Vale as I do here in the Red Keep.”
Valerion nodded solemnly at her, holding her gaze with all the seriousness a three-year-old could muster. “And we’ll love you just as much, Dalla.”
The lump in her throat returned, heavier now, but this time, she welcomed it. Her chest felt warm as she smiled down at him, her embrace tightening around him one last time.
“I will always love you,” she whispered, her eyes sweeping across all of their expectant and loving faces. “No matter where I go, my heart will always be here with you.”
And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like forever, she believed it.