Page 6 of The Hidden Daughter (The Lost Daughters #7)

Charlotte followed her grandmother into the reception area of the private hospice facility, before being guided to her great-grandmother, Amalie’s, room.

Although the interior had been created to look as light and airy as possible, it still sent a shiver down her spine being there—every room contained someone near the end of their life, and it was yet another reminder of how long she’d been away from home, how many years had passed and how much older her grandmother and great-grandmother were.

‘She’s been sleeping most of the day, but I know she’s always more lucid when she hears your voice,’ the nurse said as she gestured for them to enter. ‘I’ll be in to check on her again soon, but I’m certain she’ll be pleased to see you.’

Charlotte wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the room felt nothing at all like a hospital and very much like a personal bedroom within a home.

The curtains were open to let the light in, there was a vase full of fresh flowers on the bedside table, and her grandmother’s touch was all over the bed linen.

It was white with intricate blue flowers printed on it, a cashmere blanket folded on the armchair that faced the bed, and the open shelves held books and more blankets, as well as a lamp that cast additional light through the room.

‘It’s beautiful in here,’ Charlotte said. ‘You’ve made it feel like her home.’

‘She’s such a proud woman. She hated the fuss of someone else doing all this for her, but I wanted to make it feel as comfortable as possible. It was the least I could do. Once you’re this old, beautiful surroundings are all you have left.’

‘I remember how much she loved reading,’ Charlotte said, stepping forwards and reaching for the book beside the bed. She grinned. ‘But Bridgerton?’

Now it was her grandmother laughing. ‘I’m the one reading to her every evening, it’s usually when she’s her most alert, and she seems to enjoy it. I thought we could both do with a little romance.’

Her grandmother sat on the bed then, and Charlotte took the armchair, watching as her grandmother gently took Amalie’s hand, stroking it as she spoke.

It was hard seeing a woman who’d once been so vibrant, now so frail.

Amalie’s skin was paper-thin, her hair wispy and white around her face, her cheeks hollow.

It was also scary for Charlotte because it reminded her that her own grandmother might reside in a place like this one day in the not-so-distant future.

‘Mother, Charlotte’s here with me. Can you hear me?’

Charlotte leaned forwards as Amalie’s eyes fluttered open, as her grandmother offered her water and then carefully stroked her cheek as one might a very young child.

She found herself having to glance away, tears pricking her eyes at the tender display between mother and daughter.

When her own mother had left when she was ten, she’d asked her father over and over again how she could have just walked out on them like that.

And now, it made those questions come back, made her ask all over again how a mother could ever just leave her child’s life without warning, especially after everything they’d all been through.

‘Charlotte, pass me the box, would you?’

She rose and passed it to her, watching as her grandmother placed it in Amalie’s hand and closed her fingers around it.

‘A little wooden box has been found,’ her grandmother whispered. ‘It has treasures inside, things that you left behind. And it had my name on the box. Did you leave these for me to find? Do you know anything about the little box?’

Amalie’s eyes fluttered open, but unlike last time, this time they stayed open. They were clear and bright, and her grip visibly tightened on the box.

‘Where… where did you find this?’ she croaked.

Charlotte stood and reached for the glass of water, holding it for her to take a sip through the straw. Amalie cleared her throat once she’d had a drink, and her eyes widened as she lifted the box in her shaking hand.

‘It was found at a place called Hope’s House,’ Charlotte said. ‘In London. It had been hidden there beneath the floorboards.’

‘I should never have left it there,’ Amalie murmured, before turning her head on the pillow to look at Charlotte, her eyes widening and a panicked look crossing her face. ‘Do you have my ring? Was the ring still hidden inside?’

Charlotte exchanged a quick glance with her grandmother as a shiver ran through her. ‘Yes, the ring is still inside.’ She hesitated before asking, ‘Would you like me to put it on your finger?’

Amalie nodded, and Charlotte took the box and opened it. It was then she noticed how small Amalie’s fingers were, and she slid it onto her ring finger as if it had been made for her. Which perhaps it had been. She glanced at her grandmother, who’d clearly thought the same thing.

‘The photo?’ Amalie asked.

Charlotte sat on the opposite edge of the bed to her grandmother, taking the photo and placing it in Amalie’s hand. She helped her to close her fingers around it, watching as she lifted it, the recognition that passed over her face.

‘Is this you in the photo?’ Charlotte’s grandmother asked. ‘Amalie, is this you when you were a girl?’

Amalie nodded, her eyes filling with tears as she immediately traced her trembling finger over the image of the man. Charlotte could feel her pain, could sense that whoever was in this photo had once meant a great deal to her.

‘He was so handsome,’ Amalie whispered, clearing her throat and starting to speak a little louder. ‘I’d never seen a man so handsome as my Oskar.’

‘Oskar?’ Charlotte and her grandmother both repeated at the same time. Part of her had wondered if it might have been her grandfather as a young man and they simply hadn’t recognised him.

‘I knew we’d never get married, but we were in love, and he was such a dreamer,’ she said, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her fingers. ‘I started to believe him when he said we’d be together forever.’

‘Tell us who he was, Amalie,’ Charlotte said. ‘Who is this man in the photograph, and why did you hide this box all those years ago? What does it all mean?’

Amalie dropped the photo to her chest and stared at her ring, smiling, almost as if the memories were coming back to her just from looking at it.

In that moment she looked younger somehow, as if thinking about the past had lifted the veil of age, taking her back to whatever day or month or year she was thinking of.

‘We were so young, but looking back, none of it even seems real now. He was my first love, and I would have done anything for him back then.’

‘He broke your heart?’ Charlotte asked.

Amalie shook her head, wiping at her eyes again, and Charlotte wondered if it was the memory making her sad, or whether perhaps she couldn’t quite grasp the memories she was trying to reach for.

‘Tell us, Amalie. Please tell us your story, or what you can remember of it.’

You need to tell us now, Amalie, before it’s too late.

‘We agreed to keep it a secret, to never speak of what happened, to never tell anyone the truth. That box, I should have had it sent to me. I should never have left it there for so long.’

‘Who agreed?’ Charlotte’s grandmother asked. ‘What were you never to speak of, and who told you that you had to keep it a secret?’

‘What happened with Oskar that summer,’ Amalie murmured. ‘I was supposed to forget it ever happened, and I tried, I tried so hard. But some things…’

Charlotte held her breath as she waited for her to continue, as Amalie’s eyes filled with fresh tears and she turned her head to look out of the open window.

‘It wasn’t that we weren’t happy, because we were, but I think we wanted to forget about him. In the end, it was like he’d never even existed.’

‘What was supposed to be forgotten? Are you talking about this man in the photograph? About Oskar?’

Amalie nodded, her eyes filling with fresh tears.

‘Some things are just never meant to be forgotten.’