The word barely made it past her lips. Her voice was cracked and hoarse, like something pulled from a grave.
"Yes, dear—are you alright?" the woman asked gently, taking Mae's face in both hands, brushing her cheeks with the softest care. "You're burning up. What have you done to yourself?"
Mae's world spun.
This isn't real.
It can't be. She had seen her mother die. How could this be real.
Her legs gave way and she collapsed into her mother's arms, her body shaking. "Mom… Mom, I missed you. I missed you so much, I—I thought I'd never see you again."
Tears poured from her eyes in uncontrollable waves, like every emotion she'd swallowed finally broke through. Her mother wrapped her up in a slow, steady cradle.
"Shhh… it's alright. Everything is fine now. You're safe. You're home," her mother whispered into her hair, stroking her back like she used to when Mae was small.
But then—
A voice. Cold. Stern.
"What is this display about?"
Mae froze.
"You're not a child, Marianne," the man said. His tone was iron. "This is the royal palace, not a barnyard. Pull yourself together."
Mae lifted her head slowly, as if rising from deep underwater. Her breath hitched. Her body stiffened. Her eyes locked with the man who now stood a few feet away, cloaked in a long, dark cape, his posture stiff and statuesque, trimmed with gold like royalty.
Her knees buckled again. Her lips parted.
"…Dad?"
He stood with his arms behind his back, eyes unreadable under furrowed brows.
"Dad!!" she cried out and ran straight to him, collapsing against his chest in a sob. She held him tightly, tighter than anything she'd ever held in her life.
Melissa gasped and clutched her face. Her mother stilled completely, as if frozen in time.
"Why did you leave me?!" Mae shouted into her father's chest. "Do you have any idea what I went through?! What I suffered because you weren't there?!"
Her fists clenched the fabric of his cloak.
"I hate you!" she sobbed. "I hate you for leaving me alone!"
Her mother stepped forward, shocked. "Marianne! What are you doing?!"
But Mae didn't let go.
And then—finally—he spoke.
"Who are you?"
Mae's breath hitched.
"…What?" she whispered, her face slowly tilting up to meet his eyes. "Mae–I am Mae."
"I only have one daughter," he said, voice slow, voice cold, "and her name is not Mae."
His hands came up—not to embrace her, but to pull her off him.
Mae's arms loosened. She stumbled backward.
"What have you done to my daughter?" he asked. "Who are you?"
The ground spun beneath her.
"Dad… It's me. It's Mae," she said, her voice cracking.
But the man—her father, not her father—stepped back as if she were Something wrong.
The silence that followed was the kind that claws at the ribs.
Mae stood there, breathing hard, her body trembling. The warmth that had just filled her was gone. Replaced by something colder than death.
And in that moment, she understood.
Whatever place this was—this gilded palace where people wore her mother's face, her father's voice, her name—it wasn't heaven.
Helen reached out to Mae, but Mae recoiled, her breath catching mid-throat.
"I think I'm losing my mind," she whispered hoarsely. "So just… let me be. You're not my mother, and he's not my father. I understand now." Her lips trembled, a bitter smile breaking across her face like cracked porcelain. "I'll go. I hope you find your real daughter."
She turned before the storm inside her could spill over, her steps heavy and frantic all at once as she hurried toward the palace gates.
"Marianne—!" Helen called out, her voice fracturing. But Mae didn't look back.
Behind her, Helen rounded on Lawrence.
"Why did you say that to her?" she spat, fury and disbelief shaking her voice. "She's our daughter! How could you say something so cruel to your own flesh and blood? At least pretend to have a heart!"
She lunged forward to follow Mae, but Lawrence grabbed her wrist mid-step.
"She is not your daughter!" he snapped.
Melissa, who shouldn't have spoken—but couldn't hold it in—stepped forward quietly.
"Your Highness… what if the Lady simply lost her memories?"
Her voice trembled with caution. But Lawrence only let out a humorless, cold laugh.
"Don't be ridiculous." His eyes narrowed like steel blades. "I know what Marianne looked like. And that woman is not her."
He stared after the path Mae had vanished down, as if willing the shadows to swallow her completely.
"Marshal," he called out, not needing to raise his voice. From the far edge of the colonnade, a man emerged—broad-shouldered, in flawless military black-and-red uniform, adorned with the king's insignia. Every inch of him looked carved from stone, handsome and cold in equal measure.
"Yes, Your highess?"
"Send a search party," Lawrence ordered. "Marianne is still missing. And this... imposter must not be seen by anyone. Do not let word of this leak."
The Marshal gave a tight nod and vanished into the night like a silent blade.
Then, as if nothing had happened, Lawrence turned away—his expression impassive, his footsteps echoing like an execution bell on marble.
Helen stood frozen, her knees buckling slightly beneath her gown.
"How can he be this heartless?" she murmured to herself, barely able to speak past the lump in her throat.
"His daughter just ran barefoot into the city… and he doesn't even flinch."
Beside her, Melissa's face had gone pale. She was feeling it too—the unbearable silence left in Mae's absence.
Helen looked at her sharply.
"Go after her. Don't let her out of your sight. No matter what, stay with her."
Melissa nodded instantly, as if she'd only been waiting for the command. She turned and ran—
Helen stood alone under the palace lights, hands clenched at her sides.
She looked up at the clouded sky and whispered like a prayer:
"Please, God. Keep my daughter safe."