LENA
— ✦ —
I read the invitation for the third time.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"Lena, you can't seriously be considering this."
Vanessa's voice came from the edge of my bed where she sat, legs crossed, twirling a strand of golden hair like she had all the patience in the world. Her smile was calm. Almost pitying.
"You don't understand," I said. "This event — it's hosted by one of the most powerful families in the country. If I go, maybe I can finally get answers."
"Answers." She let the word drop like it was nothing. "Or maybe you walk in there and someone laughs you out of the room. Or worse — has you arrested for fraud."
My stomach turned.
"I have proof," I said quietly.
I reached for the chain around my neck. The silver one I had worn every single day since I was old enough to understand what it meant. The pendant hung between my fingers — a small crest, intricate and deliberate.
Identical to the one printed at the bottom of the invitation.
Vanessa's eyes landed on it. Just for a second. Something moved behind her gaze — I couldn't name it — but her smile never slipped.
"Sweetie." Her voice softened, but the edge was still there underneath. "A pendant isn't proof. It's a pendant. Rich families stamp their crest on everything — napkins, gate posts, stationery. It means nothing."
"It means something to me."
"It means you want it to mean something." She sighed. "I'm saying this because I care about you. You don't know these people. They will eat you alive. You're nobody to them — and they will make sure you feel every inch of that."
The words sat in my chest like a stone.
Nobody.
I looked down at the invitation. At the crest. At my own shaking hands.
"I just want to know the truth," I said.
Vanessa uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, voice dropping to something warmer, more careful. "Then talk to me. Tell me what you remember. We'll figure it out together — without you walking into a room full of people who could destroy you."
I hesitated. But this was Vanessa. She had been there through everything. She wouldn't use anything I said against me.
"I don't remember much," I admitted. "Just flashes. A big house. Lots of people dressed up. And a woman." I paused. "She smelled like roses."
Vanessa nodded slowly.
"And the chain," she said. "Your parents left it for you?"
"Yes. It was the only thing with me when I was found." I wrapped my fingers around the pendant. "The only thing I've ever had from them."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she reached over and put her hand on my knee.
"Listen to me," she said gently. "Don't spend your life chasing people who chose to leave. If they wanted you — truly wanted you — they would have found you by now. You deserve better than opening yourself up to that kind of hurt."
Each word landed carefully. Precisely. Like she had practiced them.
"…You're right," I whispered.
Her smile came back — full and warm. "Good girl."
I set the invitation down.
That night, I tucked it into the drawer beside my bed. I set the chain on top of it. Then I stood there staring at both of them for a long moment before I finally turned off the light.
Maybe letting go was the right thing. Maybe holding on was the foolish thing.
Maybe.
I was almost asleep when the thought crept in.
What if she's wrong?
The next morning, I came downstairs to find Vanessa already in the kitchen. She was in a good mood — laughing at something on her phone, dressed to go out. I started cooking without saying much.
"You know," I said after a while, staring at the pan, "maybe I should just burn the invitation. Make it final."
"No, no." Vanessa's voice sharpened slightly. She turned from her phone. "You don't need to do that."
I glanced back at her. "Why not? I'm not going."
"I know, I know. I just mean — it's such a nice card. Hand it to me. Let me see it."
Something small snagged in my chest. But I crossed the room and handed it to her anyway.
She turned it over in her hands slowly, studying it. Too carefully.
"Vanessa."
"Mm?"
"It's tonight, isn't it," I said. It wasn't a question.
She looked up. "Is it?" Her expression was innocent. Almost convincing.
"What's the dress code?" she asked.
I stared at her. "Why would you need to know the dress code?"
She laughed, light and easy. "I'm curious. Rich people events always have such specific taste."
"White," I said slowly.
"White." She repeated it like she was filing it away. Then her eyes drifted to my closet door. "Lena — you have that white dress. The one your boyfriend gave you."
"I know which dress I have."
"Can I borrow it? I have a date tonight and I think white would be perfect."
I looked at her for a moment. Something didn't sit right — the questions, the card still in her hand, the way she was watching me. But this was Vanessa. She had always been there. She wouldn't do what I was suddenly, stupidly afraid she was about to do.
I went to the closet and pulled out the dress.
"Here," I said.
She took it from me with a smile.
Then she sat down across from me, the dress draped over her arm, and her expression shifted — softer now. Careful again. The same way it had been yesterday when she told me to let go of the invitation.
"There's something else," she said. "I've been looking into your past."
I went still.
"I know how much this means to you," she said. "I wanted to help. So I dug around — and Lena, I found something."
The words hit me like a wave. "You found something."
"I found your family."
The room tilted.
"My — " I couldn't finish the sentence. "Vanessa. Are you serious?"
"I wouldn't joke about this." She reached for my hands, squeezing them. Her eyes were sad, I realized. Not happy. Sad. "But I need you to be prepared. They're not what you've been hoping for."
I pulled my hands back. "What does that mean?"
She exhaled. "They're poor, Lena. A small family in a remote village. Struggling. That's why they never came for you. They couldn't — not because they didn't want to, maybe, but because they had nothing."
I shook my head. "That doesn't make sense. The crest — the invitation — those aren't things a poor family from a village would have—"
"Maybe an ancestor worked for the family," Vanessa said gently. "Maybe the crest was passed down from a servant. It happens." She paused. "Maybe that's exactly why you were left. Because they couldn't give you anything."
I felt sick.
"I don't believe that," I said. But my voice came out smaller than I meant it to.
Vanessa pulled out her phone. She scrolled, then turned the screen toward me.
A blurry photo. A worn-down house with peeling paint. A woman standing outside in faded clothes, her face turned slightly away from the camera.
"That's your mother," Vanessa said quietly.
I stared at the photo for a long time. My throat was tight. My eyes burned.
"Where are they?" I asked.
She reached into her bag and pressed a folded slip of paper into my hand. "The address is there. If you ever want to go."
I stared at it.
"I know this isn't what you were hoping for," she said softly. "But at least now you know. At least you have closure."
"Yeah," I said. "Thank you."
She pulled me into a hug — tight, warm, the kind that felt like an ending.
"Of course," she murmured. "You deserved to know the truth."
Something pulled me back to the kitchen. The smell hit me before I even registered it.
"Oh—" I spun around and grabbed the pan off the heat. Smoke was already curling toward the ceiling. I yanked the window open with one hand and stirred with the other, trying to save whatever was left.
"Lena," Vanessa called from behind me.
"Give me a minute," I said.
A pause. Then: "I should go. I don't want to be late for tonight." A smile in her voice. "Thank you for the dress."
I kept my back to her. "Good luck," I said.
The front door clicked shut.
I stood there at the stove, smoke fading around me, the burnt pan in my hand. The slip of paper Vanessa had given me was still in my pocket.
I didn't look at it.
Instead, I looked at the drawer where I had put the invitation the night before. Where my chain was sitting on top of it.
She smelled like roses.
I turned off the stove.
Then I walked to the drawer, opened it, and stood there for a long moment — looking at the chain, looking at the invitation, looking at the crest that matched.
My heart was doing something I couldn't quite name.
I reached in and picked up the chain.
I put it back around my neck.