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Mother barks out a laugh and turns to Hetty. “She and Tansy found me when I was shopping at Coriander’s … cornered me in the ladies’ dressing room. I was pregnant with Stella, and her belly was swollen twice the size of mine. Bryn said she was pregnant with Marcus’s baby and that he wanted her to get rid of it if it came out a beta. Specifically, release it outside the fence.”
Joanna inhales sharply. “Father?” Her voice is thick with emotion. “Is this true?”
“It was a misunderstanding,” he repeats, not taking his eyes off Isolde, his face turning a now familiar mottled purple. “We had an argument, and I—I just couldn’t have a child who—”
“I was shocked,” Mother continues, ignoring his sputtering. “I always thought it was impossible for a beta to become pregnant by an alpha. Apparently, Marcus thought so, too, because he had his way with her every night with no thought to what it would mean for her to carry his child.”
She shakes her head as if ridding herself from an unpleasant thought.
“Anyway, it was agreed that I’d help with the birth. If the baby was a beta, then I’d swoop it away before Marcus knew.” Her eyes darken. “And when the day finally came, it was rough, to say the least. There was so much blood. So much pain. I really think she would have lived if only…”
“If only what?” Joanna whispers. Hetty looks at her with a start, her eyes softening.
“If only there weren’t two of you. We didn’t even realize she was carrying twins. But there you were—a big one and a little one. It was obvious, even then, that Joanna was the stronger one. The omega. If either of you had a chance to grow into your right side, it was her. Not you, Hetty.”
Hetty’s standing perfectly still, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.
“Tansy and I knew what would happen if we left you with Marcus, so she brought you to live with me at Sage House. I promised to keep you safe and away from him.” Her voice breaks, and she rushes forward, grasping Hetty’s hands. “All the bad things I’ve done were for a reason, you know. I did them for Goldenrod. For my children. And for you.”
“I know you think that,” she whispers, nodding numbly and pulling her hands away.
“It’s a lie!” Marcus suddenly yells, jumping to his feet and rushing forward. “I would never have hurt you, and you—” He stops in front of my mother. “You killed her that day. If she’d had the babies without you, she would have lived.” His eyes fill with tears. “You were always jealous.”
I grimace as emotion transforms Marcus’s face, and he collapses back down on the steps. Joanna rushes to comfort him, but my mother, unfazed, rolls her eyes.
“But I’m worried about you, Henrietta,” she says, suddenly serious, her eyes burrowing in on Hetty’s face. “There’s no doubt that the omega side of you is shining through now. But there’s a reason your grandmother and I tried to stop this from ever happening—you’re small like your mother. I fear you won’t survive childbirth.”
Hetty’s eyes fill with tears as she inhales sharply, backing into me. “Well, lucky for me, I’m not afraid of death, Isolde,” she whispers faintly. “Just like my gran.”
I rest my hand between her shoulder blades, and she looks up at me with teary, fiery eyes.
“Take me away from here, Noah,” she whispers in a heated voice. “Far away.”
I nod, letting her pull me away from my mother. Distantly, I hear her calling out behind us. But we don’t turn back, and we don’t say a single goodbye when we leave Goldenrod.
51
Some Quiet Place
Hetty
Silently, Noah and I leave Goldenrod, avoiding the side streets and purposefully not looking at the burnt remains of the Home for Unwanted Omegas when we cross the meadow. We don’t even look back as we step through the weeds growing in the gap of the fence.
We only look forward.
It’s crazy to think we’re doing this after a lifetime of instilled fear. We were always told that to be released from Goldenrod meant certain death, but now staying feels like death.
Walking for the next hour or so, we don’t talk. Noah must have as many things on his mind as I do, but still, it doesn’t feel like there’s anything to say. Vaguely, I wonder where we’re going—certainly not back to camp. I can tell Noah has no interest in being around other people right now. And truthfully, neither do I.
Finally, he abruptly stops, inhaling deeply as his eyes search the trees.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice scratchy from disuse.
“Over here,” he replies gruffly, leading me down a winding path sheltered by dense brush and hanging willow trees.
I follow him without question under the deeply shaded canopy. Finally, he pulls back a heavy branch, revealing a burst of light.
I release a surprised breath. A large, ancient oak tree towers over a mossy clearing next to a babbling brook. The tree’s branches twist and turn overhead, blocking out the severe sun and creating a lacy patchwork on the ground.
